


The Unexpected Heist

by charliechick117



Series: The Hobbit Heist [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Heist, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2020-10-28 14:21:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 34,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20780000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charliechick117/pseuds/charliechick117
Summary: Thorin Oakenshield was once the heir of a great Las Vegas fortune until a mysterious house fire left him, his sister and her sons, destitute and homeless.  For years he traveled across Europe, skirting the edges of the law, until he could find the proof needed to reclaim his fortune.With the help of some old friends, he gathered a group of thieves and con-artists to steal back his fortune from the notorious Saul Fischer.  The only piece missing was a burglar.(A modern retelling of The Hobbit)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this AGES ago and I started to share it on Tumblr back when The Hobbit first came out. I've since went back, re-read it, made a few changes, and decided to post it on here. Again, technically. I started posting this, but I think I deleted it? Or orphaned it? I can't remember BUT HERE WE GO AGAIN GUYS.
> 
> I originally wrote this with "modern" names for all the characters but that got way too confusing. The only name I kept was Smaug, who will be known as Saul Fischer for the duration of this fic.
> 
> I also just re-watched all of The Hobbit so it's definitely time for me to share this.
> 
> Enjoy!

Thorin Oakenshield sat primly in a little French Café. He had a newspaper open in front of him, but he wasn’t reading. He never cared for French news. He set the paper on the table and drank his coffee. He was here on business.

Business, which just walked up to his table in the form of two brothers. Balin and Dwalin Feldman, close friends of Thorin, had moved to Paris shortly after the fire. Balin, the older, had gray hair and a hooked nose. He had a pleasant voice and spent many days entertaining Thorin with stories. Dwalin, the younger, had no hair, a fantastic mustache and probably had a gun underneath his jacket.

“Hello, Thorin,” Balin smiled.

“Balin,” Thorin returned the smile and embraced the brothers.

They sat down, ordered some drinks, and proceeded to tell Thorin about everything he’s missed. Thorin nodded at all the right moments and gave only the sparest details on what he’s been doing, smiling only when they asked about his nephews.

“You didn’t come all the way to Paris just for a drink though, did you?” Balin said.

Thorin shook his head and glanced around to make sure no one suspicious was listening. He leaned forward, motioning the other two to do the same.

“I plan to take back my fortune,” he whispered.

“So you know who took it then?” Dwalin’s eyes sparkled.

“I have a hunch,” Thorin said. “A very good hunch. I want to take my money back.”

“How soon?” Balin asked.

“As soon as I can,” Thorin replied. “I want… I _need_ more people on this operation. I won’t tell you who we’re dealing with, not somewhere public like this. Gandalf is already looking for someone to help.”

“You’ll need both of us, that’s for certain,” Balin said, pulling out an address book and thumbing through it.

“You’ll also need a thief, perhaps a con-artist too,” Dwalin muttered to himself more than Thorin. “We’ll need a tech, a hacker, and plenty of weapons.”

“Do you know these people?” Thorin asked.

Dwalin winked.

“Thorin, before we do this,” Balin said, “you are certain of where the money is, right?”

“Positive,” Thorin nodded. He checked his watch. “I need to be off. I have to visit Dis and the boys. Meet me in London in one week. I’ll text you the address later, make sure each person you talk to gets it.”

The brothers nodded and turned to each other, talking quickly and scribbling on napkins. They were once in the army. Thorin never asked what happened to make them drop out and start their life of crime. He never will ask how they managed to elude the government for years. All he cared to know was that he needed these men for the job.

Thorin hailed a cab and spent the fifteen-minute drive to the hotel thinking of how to tell his sister that he was going back to the states. However, fifteen minutes later and standing in a hotel lobby, Thorin had no words to say.

Fortunately for him, he was spared the necessity of an awkward conversation by his two nephews. Fili and Kili walked up to him with bright smiles and a skip in their step. They were in the tail end of their teenage years and it showed. Fili shone like the sun and his brother reflected that as though he were the moon.

“Mum said you’d show up sometime today,” Fili grinned. “She’s been dying to see you.”

“She keeps going on and on about why you’re even here,” Kili tacked on.

Thorin let them talk as they led him through the hotel. They were brothers, a year apart, and grew up as twins. The two of them could hold up a conversation for hours and hours. They led Thorin out to the pool in the back. Dis was sitting in a nearby chair, book propped open.

“Hello, sister,” Thorin greeted her, sitting in an open chair.

“Hello, brother,” she answered, setting her book down. “Please tell me you aren’t doing something stupid.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Thorin hedged.

“I’m not an idiot, Thorin,” Dis looked at him. “You paid for the three of us to fly in and spend two weeks in Paris. You can say it’s for Kili’s graduation, but I know better. So tell me, what are you going to do?”

Thorin sighed. He should know better than to try to outsmart his sister. She was always the perceptive one. He leaned in, glancing around for any potential eavesdroppers.

“I know where our fortune is,” he whispered. “I know who took it. I’m going to take it back.”

“I knew it was something stupid!” Dis exclaimed.

“Dis–”

“No, you listen to me,” Dis whipped off her sunglasses, blue eyes fierce. “Let. It. Go. You’ve made a life for yourself. I’ve got a life of my own. I raised my boys, even after their father passed. This – this obsession you have with finding our old fortune? It’s hopeless.”

“No, it’s not,” Thorin said. “I already spoke to Dwalin and Balin. They’re going to help me. We’re going to get our money, our livelihood, back. The Erebor Hotel and Suites can be up and running again.”

“Have you thought that I don’t want it back?” Dis countered. “After that fire, Thorin, after what we went through, maybe I don’t want it back.”

“How could you not want it back?”

“We almost died that night, Thorin,” Dis said. “If you hadn’t woken up, if you hadn’t come for me, we would have all died. We would have burnt up with our father and–”

“Stop it!” Thorin stood up, hands balled in fists.

Everyone at the pool grew silent. Thorin could feel their eyes on him. He took a calming breath and forced himself to loosen his hands. Dis didn’t move an inch; her eyes were cool as she watched Thorin piece his composure back together.

“I– I’m sorry,” he said. “If that is truly the way you feel, then I will not bother you until the fortune is in my hands.”

He turned on his heel and left. He pretended he couldn’t hear the scampering feet behind him, the faint calls from his nephews. They latched onto him, one on each arm, and looked at him with wide eyes. Eyes wide with something akin to fear.

“Uncle?” Kili asked. “Something wrong?”

Thorin sighed and looked at the two boys.

“Do you remember the stories I used to tell you about your grandfather?”

“Yes,” their eyes lit up.

“Remember how I said he had a safe filled with money?”

They nodded.

“Do you remember what happened next?”

“The house burnt down and the money was stolen and you were nothing,” Kili rattled off as quick as he could. Thorin bristled at the last comment.

“But it’s just a story, isn’t it?” Fili said. “Because if you were really nothing then we wouldn’t be here, would we?”

“It’s no story,” Thorin said. “It happened. It was real. But I think I know where to find that fortune. I think I know where the money is and I’m going to get it.”

“Can we come with?” Kili asked.

“Absolutely not,” Thorin brushed his nephews off.

“But Uncle!”

“No boys, and that’s an order,” Thorin said. “Your mother will skin me alive if you came along. And you’re much too young!”

“I am not!” Kili puffed up his chest. “I am 18 years old! I am a legal adult!”

“Barely!” Fili pushed his brother. “Please, uncle, let us come with you! It’s our fortune too, isn’t it?”

Thorin didn’t say anything. He just shook his head and left the hotel, blocking out their pouting faces. Had the boys been older by a few scant years, old enough to know what they were getting into, Thorin would have taken them in an instant. It was their fortune as well and they deserved a chance to fight for it.


	2. Chapter 2

Dwalin exited the cab and took a deep breath of the Italian air. Dori Richmond lived in Florence with his two brothers, Nori and Ori. Dori lived among the social elite. He knew how to blend into a crowd of wealthy men and make them feel comfortable around him. Nori, on the other hand, was the greatest thief Dwalin ever met. There was no safe Nori couldn’t open and nothing he wouldn’t do to get his prize. They would both be invaluable assets for Thorin.

He knocked on the door to a nice little house, wondering if Dori would throw wine in his face again. Their last meeting was eventful to say the least.

“Dwalin,” Dori groaned as he opened the door. “I hate it when you show up on my doorstep. Nothing good ever comes with you.”

“I need you and your brother,” Dwalin said quickly. “Just one more job.”

“No,” Dori folded his arms. “I told you last time, we’re out. I’m out. No more of this.”

“It’s about Thorin Oakenshield.”

Dori’s eyes widened and he let out the smallest groan. He backed away and let Dwalin inside, shutting and locking the door behind him. The house had all of Dori’s décor, polished silver and delicate porcelain with tasteful paintings on the walls. Almost every available surface had knitted clothes or a book. Some things never change.

Dori (pushing Dwalin to the kitchen) hadn’t changed a bit either. He had a little less hair since last they met, perhaps a few more worry lines, but he was much the same. At the kitchen table was Ori, typing frantically on a laptop, pushing glasses up his nose every so often.

“Ori, go get Nori,” Dori said, slamming the laptop shut. “We need to talk.”

Ori nodded frantically and ran off through the house. He came back with Nori in tow. Nori grumbled and smiled at his brother, until he caught sight of Dwalin. He froze in his tracks and his eyes narrowed.

“What is he doing here?” Nori demanded.

“I’m here to get a thief,” Dwalin explained calmly. “Thorin Oakenshield is going to get his fortune back. Says he knows who took it. Balin and I are already on the team, but I need you both with us as well.”

“Is Bofur coming?” Nori asked.

“Of course,” Dwalin said.

“Are we going to get shot again?”

“With luck, no.”

“Count me in, then,” Nori shrugged. “Does Thorin know where the money is?”

“He didn’t say,” Dwalin shook his head. “But I think it’s still in Vegas.”

“No, no and definitely not,” Dori spoke up. “I am not going anywhere near Vegas ever again.”

“Come off it, Dori, that was years ago,” Nori said, teasing his brother lightly. “And we still got the job done, didn’t we?”

“I am scarred for life from that,” Dori shuddered.

“It’s Thorin’s fortune,” Dwalin interrupted the brothers. “If he can get this money back, he can get his business started once more.”

“Oh, I’m coming,” Nori assured Dwalin. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

“Can I come?” Ori asked timidly.

“Absolutely not!” Dori roared, turning to his youngest brother with fire in his eyes.

“And why not?” Ori stood up straight. “I can hack into every computer system ever created. I know how to slide past firewalls and alter camera feed. You need me on this, you know you do.”

“He’s right,” Nori said, clapping Ori on the shoulder and giving a squeeze. “The reason why you have such fond memories of Las Vegas is because we didn’t have a hacker with us. So you got caught and–”

“That’s enough,” Dori spoke over Nori, his cheeks faintly pink. He turned back to Dwalin. “Fine. We’re in, the three of us. The Richmond family will see this is done properly.”

“Excellent,” Dwalin smiled. “I expect to see you in London in three days. We’ll meet there before heading to the states. I’ll text you the address when I get it.”

Once the door was shut behind him, Dwalin heard the shouting begin. Let them shout all they wanted; they were part of the team now. Not even Nori would go back on that kind of promise. Dwalin slid his sunglasses in place and called his brother.

“They’re all in, even little Ori. Oh, make _sure_ you get Bofur.”

Balin liked Bofur. He liked Bofur a lot. Being a conman, it’s important that Bofur was well liked, and he certainly was. With a smile and a laugh, Bofur could get even the Queen of England to part with a piece of jewelry.

The only problem with Bofur was that he’s a hard man to find. He specialized in hiding, going so deep underground that no one could find him unless he wanted to be found. However, Balin had a secret weapon. Bofur’s younger brother, Bombur.

Bombur lived in France with his wife and eight children. As a lover of food, he moved to France to study culinary arts, only to meet Mirra, his wife. They owned a small restaurant in Paris that Bofur boasted of constantly and for good reason too. It was a small café, with authentic French cuisine at a reasonable price. Nestled in a corner with shops all around made it easy to find, being family owned meant that tourists flocked the place. Balin and Dwalin spent many days in this restaurant between jobs. It was how they found Bofur to begin with.

“Balin!” a small voice squealed and Balin found a small child latched to his legs.

“Hello, little one,” Balin smiled.

The small child was Rachel, Bombur and Mirra's only daughter. She smiled up at him, missing her front teeth already, and dragged him into the back room, talking his ear off the entire way about her seven brothers and her Uncle Bifur. He nodded at all the right places, letting her talk without taking a breath. From the kitchen came Mirra, apron on and auburn hair piled on her head. She grabbed Rachel, speaking rapid French, and spared a smile for Balin.

“Your husband…?” Balin asked.

“Upstairs,” Mirra said. “He and his cousin are waiting for you.”

Balin kissed Mirra on the cheek and went upstairs. The family lived in their restaurant, their living area above the workplace. Where they managed to hide eight children in such a small place remained a mystery.

“Bombur!” Balin called, opening the door to the main room.

Bombur and Bifur were sitting on the sofa, hands folded. They both looked up when Balin came into the room. The room was quaint, with soft colors and toys strewn everywhere. Normally there’d be at least two children on the floor, laughing and squealing, but this was a business meeting; no children allowed.

“We have a condition for you,” Bombur said, without preamble.

“A condition?” Balin repeated, sitting across from the two.

“We’ll give you Bofur, tell you where he is, but you have to take us with you wherever you go,” Bombur said.

“Why would I do that?” Balin asked.

“Because we know you only call in Bofur when it’s something very dangerous.”

“Then why do you want to come?”

Bifur signed something quickly to Bombur, his hands moving too quickly for Balin to catch a glimpse.

“He says that we could help,” Bombur translated. “He used to be a cop before the accident and I’m probably going to be the only person who isn’t on the run from anyone.”

“Why do you _really_ want to come?” Balin prodded.

Yes, Bifur used to be a cop before the accident took away his voice. He knew how to slide underneath any law enforcement they might come across. Bombur was also right. If he came along, he would be the only man who didn’t have something to hide. But those weren’t reasons to join a potentially dangerous heist.

“Last time you took my brother, he came back with three bullet wounds,” Bombur said, looking down at his hands. “If… if he dies going on this heist with you, I want to be with him.”

That heist was a poor job. Nothing went right and everyone was shot at a few times. Balin remembers it well because they were double-crossed. Dwalin was also shot during that job so Balin could understand Bombur and Bifur’s reasons. Balin and his brother were in the army together. They disobeyed orders for each other, to keep each other safe. He, more than most, could understand the need to stay by a brother’s side when bullets went flying.

“Very well,” Balin nodded. “You can come. So where is Bofur?”

“He’s been in Ireland, but came back for his sister-in-law’s cooking.”

Balin smiled and turned around to see Bofur standing the doorway, smiling like the Cheshire cat.

“You picked up the accent too, it seems,” Balin noted.

“That’s what they pay me for,” Bofur chuckled. He crossed the room and sat by Balin. “Who else is on the team?

“The Richmond brothers,” Balin said. “All three of them.”

“Nori’s coming?” Bofur’s eyes lit up like the sun.

“He said he’ll come if you come,” Balin sighed.

“It’s been years, mate,” Bofur leaned back, his smile soft. “When’s it going down?”

“Soon,” Balin said. “Thorin just said to meet in London in three days. I’ll send you the address once I know.”

Balin gave them some more information, just the little he knew about Thorin and the fortune. As he left, MIrra pushed a pastry into his hand, telling him to be careful and watch out for Bombur. He sent off a text message to Dwalin.

_Bofur is in. Cousin and brother coming too_.

Dwalin’s next stop was Gloin. Dwalin had done plenty of jobs without a pyrotechnic, he’d done jobs without using explosives at all, but he had a feeling this job needed a man who understood fire.

Gloin and Nina Monroe lived in Salzburg, Austria. It was a place for them to raise their son and be close to Gloin’s family. Getting Gloin to agree to the heist wouldn’t be difficult; it was getting Nina to agree that Dwalin was worried about.

Their little boy, Gimli, answered the door. Though calling him a little boy didn’t do him justice. Gimli was 16 and a wrestler with his mother’s heart of gold. His face lit up when he saw Dwalin in the doorway and let him inside easily. He ran off to fetch his father and Dwalin was left in the entryway of the house.

Their home was well lived in and cozy. A large window was in the back of the living room, exposing the gorgeous city behind. There were bookshelves along the walls and a piano tucked away in the corner. The couches were white, chic, and matched the pale carpet.

Gloin came back soon, his son at his side. He smiled at Dwalin and apologized for Nina’s absence, as she was giving piano lessons. They sat in the living room; Gimli sprawled on the floor, books in front of him.

“I have a job for you,” Dwalin said.

“I can’t,” Gloin said instantly. “I’ve got Gimli here to look after.”

“Thorin Oakenshield is the one who’d be hiring you,” Dwalin said.

Gloin’s eyes lit up. He leaned forward, “Has he found it then?”

“He seems certain that he has,” Dwalin said. “Normally I wouldn’t ask you to come, but considering the circumstances and what happened to Thorin…”

“You don’t think he can handle it?” Gloin guessed. “The fires?”

Dwalin shook his head slowly. Gloin put a hand on Dwalin’s arm, giving a soft squeeze. Dwalin didn’t just think that Thorin couldn’t handle flames, he knew. He had seen Thorin’s iron resolve crumble like bread when faced with fire.

“I’ll come,” Gloin said softly. “For Thorin.”

“What are you going to tell Mum?” Gimli asked.

“Let me worry about that one,” Gloin said.

“Mum won’t want you to go,” Gimli pointed out. “And… I don’t want you to go either.”

“Bud, I have to go,” Gloin said. “This is personal.”

Gimli stood up then, facing down his father with pure defiance.

“If you go, then take me with you,” Gimli said.

“No. This is dangerous. I won’t have you coming with us.”

“I won’t get in your way, I promise. I’ll do whatever you tell me. I can be helpful, I really can!”

“Gimli, what we are doing isn’t like those books you read,” Gloin turned to his son. “This is real life and this is dangerous. These people have guns and they will shoot you if they get the chance.”

“They’ll be shooting you too!” Gimli exclaimed, his eyes sparkling.

Gloin didn’t have anything to say. He fumbled for his words. Dwalin coughed awkwardly and the door opened. Gimli sniffed and wiped at his eyes, putting on a fake smile as Nina came through the door.

“Gloin, honey, I need you to take the car to the shop soon,” she said. “The brakes are squealing again.”

Nina stepped into the living room and paused. Her eyes drifted over Gimli, standing at the center of the room, eyes brimming with tears. She turned to see Dwalin on the sofa and her faced hardened instantly. Gloin saw this and stood up, moving toward his wife.

“Now, Nina,” he said.

“It’s about Thorin, isn’t it?” Nina said softly.

Dwalin nodded solemnly.

“He’ll need you,” Nina said to her husband, voice catching in her throat. “I know what the fire did to him.”

“Nina,” Gloin put his arms on her shoulders. “I’ll come back. I always do.”

“I know,” Nina smiled. “And we’ll be here.”

Gimli sobbed, choking it back and ran from the living room. Dwalin stood up, feeling the awkward air around him only increase. He told Gloin he’d be in touch and left as quickly as he could. Not trusting to speak, he texted Balin.

_Gloin’s coming._

Balin’s last stop was in Munich, Germany. He was getting Gloin’s brother, Oin. Oin was one of those men that they didn’t necessarily _need_ on a heist but Balin would feel much safer having him around, especially considering how their last heist went down. He was a retired, half-deaf army doctor. He could fight with the best and he could patch them up with the limited supplies they might have. Currently, Oin was in the middle of a surgery and Balin was forced to wait.

“Sorry about the delay,” Oin came out to the lobby, still in his scrubs. “Patients don’t often wait for opportune moments to need surgery.”

Balin chuckled and motioned for Oin to follow him into a corner of the lobby.

“I have a job offer for you,” Balin said. “If you’re up for it, that is.”

“Depends on the job,” Oin replied.

“Thorin’s money,” Balin said. “He has a plan to get it back.”

“Does he?” Oin grinned. “Who’s on the team then?”

“Bofur, your brother, Nori,” Balin shrugged.

“The best of the best, eh? Count me in. Can’t let my little brother have all the fun.”

“London, the day after tomorrow, don’t be late.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Oin said.

Balin left the hospital quickly, no reason to spend more time there than he needed to. He sent a quick text to Dwalin and called Thorin.

“We got them,” Balin said. “We have a team, where are we meeting?”


	3. Chapter 3

Bilbo Baggins was very happy living in his little flat in downtown London. It was warm, cozy, and in the center of all the hustle and bustle. He lived a simple life and nothing would change that. What more did he need than warm bed, a full kitchen, and plenty of books to read? Currently, he was out in the park, just enjoying the sunlight with one of his favorite books.

A shadow fell over his face, blocking that elusive sunlight. Bilbo looked up from his book and saw a man, white hair and an immaculate three-piece suit, looking down on him with a mix of derision and confusion.

“Can I help you?” Bilbo asked, polite as could be.

“That remains to be seen,” the man said. “I’m looking for someone to share in a most elaborate heist.”

Bilbo’s jaw dropped. He looked around, hoping maybe, this man wasn’t talking to him. There were no other benches close to him and, unfortunately, no one else nearby. The man was definitely talking to Bilbo.

“I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong part of London for that,” Bilbo said, shifting uncomfortably. “Heists are unnatural, dangerous things. Could get you killed, or worse.”

Bilbo, conversation closed on his end, turned back to his book, hoping the stranger would get the message and leave him alone.

“You have changed, Bilbo Baggins,” the man shook his head sadly. “Took a turn for the worse, if I say so myself.”

“I’m sorry… do we know each other?” Bilbo asked, scanning his memory for where he could have seen this man. He would have remembered meeting such an eccentric person before, surely.

“I’m sure you remember my name even if you don’t remember it’s mine,” the man chuckled. “I’m Gandalf Gray.”

“Gandalf Gray?” Bilbo repeated, recognition dawning over him. “The man who made such excellent fireworks? I haven’t heard about him in years! We all assumed he’d gone out of business or…”

“Or… what?” Gandalf eyed Bilbo.

“Oh, um,” Bilbo flushed and coughed, looking away.

“Well, it doesn’t matter much,” Gandalf shrugged. “You’ll see soon enough that this will be for your benefit. I’ll inform the others immediately.”

“Others?!” Bilbo repeated. He stood up, book forgotten on the bench. “I’ll have you know, Mr. Gray, there will be no heists in London, especially none involving me!”

With that, he scooped his book up and scampered away. Bilbo didn’t allow himself to relax until he was safe in his flat, door securely locked behind him. He took a deep breath to calm himself. Gandalf may have found him in a park, but there was no way the man knew where he lived. Right?

Even as Bilbo thought that, he knew he was wrong. Gandalf Gray was a maker of fireworks but that was only a front. Gandalf Gray was part of a very powerful, very dangerous, crime syndicate who specialized in taking down drug dealers, pimps, and anyone else who hurt society. The Council of White, they were called. Law enforcement called them a crime syndicate, the community referred to them as vigilantes. Either way, Bilbo wanted nothing to do with them.

Still, it was a one-time meeting, one that Bilbo felt certain wasn’t going to come to anything. He treated himself for dinner, cooking the salmon he had been saving. He sliced up some fruit, toasted a slice of bread, poured himself a glass of wine, and settled himself down for dinner. Nothing like the comforts of home cooking to ease a troubled mind. He lifted his hand to eat, when the doorbell rang.

Bilbo frowned. No. He did not call anyone to come visiting, and if he had, then he would have invited them earlier to share dinner. Bilbo was nothing but hospitable, so, with dread in his steps, he opened the door.

Before him stood the tallest, widest man he’d ever met, with tattoos running along his hands. Bilbo’s eyes widened as he took in the leather jacket, the not-so-hidden gun, and the bag over the shoulder.

“Dwalin Feldman,” the man introduced himself, stepping past Bilbo into the flat. “Good to meet you.”

“I– I’m sorry, have we met?” Bilbo asked, hastily shutting the door.

Dwalin Feldman gave Bilbo the oddest look and tipped his head to the side. “No.” He dropped his bag onto the floor and threw his jacket into Bilbo’s arms. “So where is it then?”

“Where’s… what?” Bilbo asked. Did his cousins send some thug to steal from him? A low blow, to be sure, but Bilbo always wondered about his cousins. It seemed as though Lobelia would stoop to any level to get his inheritance.

“Dinner, of course. I was told we’d be eating here.”

“Who told you that?” Bilbo asked, rushing after Dwalin who had made his way into the kitchen.

Bilbo didn’t get any answer as Dwalin set himself down and ate Bilbo’s dinner. Keeping his temper in check, Bilbo watched the food disappear at top speeds. Was Dwalin even tasting the food? He was half-tempted to give this man a piece of his mind. Who did he think he was, coming into his home uninvited and eating the dinner Bilbo slaved over? In fact, Bilbo reasoned, why not do so? He didn’t know this man, he had no reason to be polite. He stood up straight and tall, opened his mouth to speak, when the doorbell rang again.

“You gonna get that?” Dwalin asked, licking his fingers clean, not looking at all disturbed.

Bilbo nodded weakly and answered his door, just knowing that he wasn’t going to like who was waiting on the other side. Sure enough, standing at his door was another man Bilbo had never before met. He looked older, with graying hair, but had a charming smile on his face.

“Balin Feldman,” he introduced himself. “I’m not late, am I?”

“Late for what?” Bilbo asked as Balin pushed himself inside as well.

Bilbo could only stand flabbergasted as Balin and Dwalin greeted each other and started talking animatedly about dinner and even more guests. They motioned around the kitchen and the pantries, pulling out all his food and drinks and moving about the furniture.

No sooner than Bilbo worked up the courage to give these two, very large, very imposing, men a piece of his mind, than the doorbell rang again. Bilbo, fully ready to tell whoever was at the door to go bother someone else, fell silent as he swung the door open.

Of all the things that Bilbo was expecting, two teenage boys were not on the list. They had to be brothers; they had the same facial structure and stance. They smiled widely and introduced themselves as Fili and Kili.

“No, you can’t come in,” Bilbo insisted, pushing the door shut.

“Has it been cancelled?” Kili demanded, pushing the door open again.

“No, nothing has been cancelled!” Bilbo spoke without thinking.

“That’s a relief!” Kili sighed, pushing the door open and letting himself and Fili inside while Bilbo could only stand helplessly to the side.

“Fili, Kili!” Dwalin’s booming voice seemed to echo in Bilbo’s tiny apartment. “You two are _not_ supposed to be here.”

“Come on, Dwalin,” Kili said with every bit of teenage petulance. “We deserve to come so we’re coming. We’re both legal adults.”

“You’ve only just graduated!” Balin exclaimed, standing beside Dwalin. “Hardly old enough to come on this kind of heist.”

Bilbo collapsed into a chair, letting the four strangers in his home argue. He still had no idea who they were or why they were in his flat and raiding his kitchen. He didn’t know how they even found him! Did they just walk by, like the look of this building, and come knocking? Hardly possible, but Bilbo wasn’t ruling it out just yet. Maybe if he ignored them then they would all go away. This was just a bad dream; it had to be.

It wasn’t so, as the doorbell rang again.

“No!” he shouted, all patience forgotten. He walked towards the door with every bit of anger in his step. “There isn’t anyone home! I’ve got four strangers in my house and I don’t want anymore! If this is someone’s idea of a joke, ha!”

He opened the door and no less than eight men fell on his floor, groaning as one man stood in the back, one very familiar man.

“Gandalf Gray,” Bilbo sighed. He really should have known.

The next hours would be some of Bilbo’s worst memories. He couldn’t keep track of these men and his flat wasn’t built to hold fourteen. They raided his cupboards, plated food that smothered the table, and drank his best beer. They were loud, crass, and threw food at each other as if it were sport.

“Gandalf!” Bilbo grabbed the man by the elbow and took him out to the hallway, ignoring the men shouting in his dining room. “What are these men doing at my flat?”

“They’re quite a merry gathering, aren’t they?” Gandalf chuckled as the men continued laughing in the other room. “Once you get used to them, I suppose.”

“I don’t want to get used to them!” Bilbo exclaimed. “I want an explanation _now_! They have ruined my home, raided my pantry, and I haven’t been told why they’re here!”

“Excuse me,” a timid voice spoke up.

Bilbo turned and saw one of the younger men standing in front of him, plate in hand. He looked very shy, wearing a knitted cardigan. Bilbo did a double take, momentarily forgetting his anger. This man looked small and gentle, what was he doing with such rowdy companions?

“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” the young man continued, “but what should I do with my plate?”

Fili walked over, picked up the plate, and threw it at his brother. Bilbo’s heart stopped as Kili deftly caught it and threw it to the kitchen, only for someone to catch it and toss it into the sink. Bilbo’s anger came back in full force as the twelve unexpected guests around his table started throwing dishes at each other. He danced around as much as he could, trying to stop them from cracking his mother’s antique cups. Gandalf was no help at all, standing in the corner, cigarette in his mouth, chuckling at the antics.

By the time Bilbo pushed his way through the crowd of cheering men, he saw all his dishes stacked up by the sink, not a crack in sight. The thirteen guests laughed and cheered, apparently amused by Bilbo’s face.

Yet Bilbo would not be pacified so easily. Thirteen unexpected guests were still unexpected guests. Whether they cleaned up after themselves or not mattered little. Bilbo didn’t want them, nor did he expect them. He was working up to an impressive rant about such unexpected guests and tiny homes but a knock echoed through the flat. Everyone grew silent and looked at Bilbo expectantly.

Bilbo, however, was boiling over with rage. He stormed to the door, the rant still on his lips, ready to give it to whoever was on the other side. What he didn’t expect, was the man on the other side to tower over him and give an air of such regality, that Bilbo almost bowed on the spot. He choked on his tongue and let the man in wordlessly.

“Fili!” the man bellowed. “Kili!”

Bilbo turned to see the two teenagers cowering behind Dwalin. The man noticed them and glared, motioning for them to come to him. As they passed Bilbo, he could hear snatches of their whispers.

“Told you we should’ve told him!”

“Do you think they’ll bury us by Dad?”

“There won’t be anything left to bury!”

The man took Fili and Kili outside and shut the door again. Bilbo stood there, completely shell shocked, until the shouting started, something about the boys and their mother. The men in his house coughed awkwardly and turned back to the kitchen, whispering to themselves. Bilbo went with them, not wanting to overhear the rest of the argument that was brewing outside.

That’s when Gandalf finally introduced the strangers. He knew Balin and Dwalin Feldman were brothers, sitting with their head together in a corner. Next to them were the Monroe brothers, Oin and Gloin. Across the table were brothers Dori, Nori, and Ori Richmond. At the far end of the little dining room were Bofur, his brother Bombur, and their cousin Bifur. They didn’t give any last name. Fili and Kili Douglas were brothers (as Bilbo had guessed) and nephews of the latecomer, one Thorin Oakenshield.

“They really shouldn’t be here,” Dwalin said, swirling his beer. “They’re much too young.”

“Agreed,” Balin nodded. “But it isn’t our decision. This is up to Thorin.”

“Why is it his decision?” Bilbo asked hesitantly.

“They’re his nephews,” Gloin offered unhelpfully.

“More his sons, really,” Balin clarified. “Their own father died a while back. Car accident. Kili was only ten. After that, Thorin became their father figure, raising them, looking out for them.”

“They still shouldn’t be here,” Dwalin grumbled.

The three in question came back, the boys sat down next to their uncle, faces split into identical grins. Thorin sat down at the head of the table and pulled a plate of food towards him, looking relieved.

“The boys are coming,” he said. “I spoke with Dis and we’re agreed. They are consenting, legal adults and they know the dangers. This is their fight; they deserve the chance to come along.”

A rumble fell across the group. Some nodded their agreement; other shook their heads.

“Dangers?” Bilbo repeated. “Fight?”

“Ah, yes,” Gandalf pulled Bilbo closer to the table. “Thorin, this is the man I was talking about. A perfect man for the job.”

Thorin looked at Bilbo. His eyes dragged over Bilbo’s figure slowly and Bilbo felt the distinct impression that he was being sized up like a cow for slaughter. He was suddenly aware of the wrinkles in his shirt, the too-large shorts, and his slightly pudgy belly.

“Is that so?” Thorin mused. “He doesn’t look much like a burglar.”

“Because I am not,” Bilbo shot back. A burglar indeed!

“Trust me, Thorin,” Gandalf said in a soothing voice. “You asked me for help and this is the man I have chosen to help you. Bilbo Baggins has much more to offer than you know.”

Bilbo was about to argue that fact. He did not have anything to offer these strong men in whatever dangers they were about to face. He was a simple Londoner with simple pleasures and a simple life. He opened his mouth and Thorin spoke.

“Very well,” Thorin nodded. “Our burglar will be Mr. Baggins.”

“Since that’s decided, who are we dealing with?” Nori asked over Bilbo’s small squeals of protest. “We’re all here for the job, so tell us the goods.”

“The Firedrake,” Thorin said. A hush fell over the crowd and Dwalin’s eyes grew wide with shock. “It was him.”

“Saul Fischer took your fortune?” Dori leaned forward. “Are you certain? Because you can’t go stealing from him willy-nilly.”

“I went back to the ruins, a couple years back,” Thorin said. “And I found something in the dirt, I don’t know how it got overlooked.”

From his pocket, Thorin pulled out a small, metal disk. He set it down on the table and everyone leaned forward to look at it. Engraved on the gold were the letters SF. The S curled into the tail of a dragon while the F was made of flames.

“That’s Saul Fischer’s mark,” Dori whispered, running a finger over the medallion. “He has it stitched on everything he owns, these medallions are given to his most valuable employees. If this was at the house then it had to have been him.”

“Saul would be a prime suspect,” Balin said. “Thrain, Thorin’s father, never liked Saul. He always talked about shutting down the Firedrake Casino.”

“That’s enough motive,” Bofur piped up. “Did he have the means though?”

“Saul always had a love for fire,” Thorin said. “There’s a reason his casino is called The Firedrake.”

“But if it was Saul who took your money, then that means you’re planning it to steal from the most powerful man in all of Las Vegas,” Oin pointed out.

“The most powerful man in Las Vegas?” Bilbo pushed himself back into the conversation, not quite believing his ears. “You’re going to rob this man?”

“Isn’t that what a burglar does?” Thorin looked at Bilbo with amusement.

“You want _me_ to rob this man?” Bilbo’s voice came out as a squeak. Had he unknowingly welcomed thieves into his house? Were these common criminals sitting in his dining room? He really should have expected this when Gandalf Gray appeared at his door.

“I’m taking back what is rightfully mine,” Thorin growled.

“If I may,” Gandalf out a hand on Thorin’s arm and turned to Bilbo. “Thorin is the heir to the Erebor Hotel and Suites. 17 years ago, his fortune was stolen. If Thorin is right, and I believe that he is, then we would be taking back what is rightfully his. Does that make it theft?”

“This isn’t the time for philosophy,” Dwalin spoke up, his eyes still wide and popping. “Thorin, am I right in saying that you want us to steal from Saul Fischer?”

Thorin nodded.

“The Saul Fischer who runs the biggest, most coveted casino, in all of Vegas?” Dwalin continued. “Who bought out the entire police department? Who could have us in prison for the rest of our lives if we’re caught? That Saul Fischer?”

“I won’t repeat myself again,” Thorin’s voice dropped to a threatening register.

“I’ll give you a break because you’re my friend and new to this job,” Dwalin sighed. “On any other heist, Balin and I could plan it successfully within a couple of weeks, a month at most. Saul Fischer is paranoid and rich, two qualities that are bad for us. He’s going to have decoys, guards at every door, cameras watching everything. We can’t do this without at least a month of preparation.”

“We don’t have a month,” Thorin said, his hands tightening into fists. “If I give you two weeks, could you plan something?”

“Why two weeks?” Bofur asked. “If we plan this too quickly then there is that much more room for error, for a mistake, and for someone to wind up dead.”

Bofur’s eyes tightened at that last phrase and, to Bilbo’s surprise, Nori put a comforting hand on Bofur’s arm, squeezing softly. Bilbo hoped that Bofur wasn’t speaking from personal experience.

“We’ll fly to New York as soon as we can, plan the heist in two weeks, and then put it into action,” Thorin said. “Saul is planning on moving the money in a month. We have two weeks. Can you do it?”

“I’m not sure…” Dwalin hedged.

“Can you do it?” Thorin demanded.

“I suppose so,” Dwalin gave in, eyes still bugging out. “We should fly in tomorrow, can you get the tickets?”

“Fly to New York?” Bilbo asked, his voice cracking.

“Don’t worry yourself, Mr. Baggins,” Thorin said, pulling out a phone and tapping quickly on it. “We’ll be in first class the entire flight there.”

“Wha– wait, _we_?” Bilbo looked between the fourteen men gathered at his table. “Am I really to be a part of this heist too?”

“Of course you are!” Gandalf nodded. “Did you think we were merely speculating this great heist? Saul knows of these men but he knows nothing of _you_. You are normal and plain and can slide right underneath of his defenses.”

“What defenses?!” Bilbo exclaimed.

“All of them,” Bofur said. “Every thief and conman worth his money knows about Saul Fischer. He’s got security cameras of the highest make, the toughest guards money can buy, electronic locks and access codes.”

“And like I said, he knows these men,” Gandalf said. “They are the top thieves in the world; any businessman knows how to defend against them. You, on the other hand, are completely new. Saul won’t know what to do.”

Bilbo couldn’t do anything but splutter and whimper as the men made plans to meet the next day at the airport. By the time Bilbo felt coherent enough to fight against this, the men were leaving, patting his back and laughing out into the street. Gandalf, on the other hand, waited in the living room, sipping a glass of red wine.

“I can’t do this,” Bilbo collapsed into an armchair. “I don’t belong in a heist. I don’t belong with these men.”

“Of course you do!” Gandalf brushed it off. “You have a family legacy! Your great uncle was a well renowned hitman, never once did he get caught!”

“That’s because he was shot and killed,” Bilbo said.

“You don’t belong here,” Gandalf said gently. “You belong out there, in the world, changing it and shaping it.”

“And you think that joining a bunch of crooks is how I change the world?” Bilbo nearly shouted.

“You’d be helping the heir of a great fortune reclaim his title,” Gandalf said. “You’d be part of the team that took down the tyrant, Saul Fischer.”

“I’m not like you,” Bilbo said. “I’m small and helpless and I wouldn’t be of any use.”

“How about a deal then?” Gandalf said, his eyes glimmering. “You will fly to New York and go to every meeting for two weeks. Just these two weeks, talk with them, hear their plan, and if you decide that you don’t want to be a part of it, I’ll let you go. I’ll even buy your ticket back to London.”

“You promise that?”

“On my life.”


	4. Chapter 4

Thorin waited impatiently at the airport. Their flight was leaving soon and if Bilbo didn’t show up, he wasn’t going to be a part of it. His crew of thirteen clustered around him, suitcases in hand, trying to look casual.

“Do you think he’ll come?” Dwalin asked.

“I highly doubt it,” Thorin shook his head.

Fili turned to Thorin, “We aren’t leaving without him, are we?”

“We have to,” Thorin stood up as their flight was called.

He led the way through the airport, trusting that everyone was following him. He didn’t have any shred of faith that Bilbo would come. That man loved his home too much to come on a quest like this. He heard the men making bets. Nori’s doing, no doubt.

They were almost in line, Thorin passing out the tickets, when a shout stopped them

“Wait!”

They all turned and saw Bilbo Baggins running for them, suitcase in hand and scarf flying behind him.

“Wait! I’m coming!”

Thorin sighed and ushered his team to board the plane. He passed Bilbo his ticket, pushed him forward, and followed onto the plane. Thorin bought out the entire first class cabin, to ensure their privacy. They all settled down, Fili and Kili dragging Bilbo by them, and waited for take-off. It was one of the nicer planes that Thorin’s been on, their seats around the edge with a kitchen counter to one side. Bilbo seemed overwhelmed by it all, the plush chairs and HD television.

“Where’s Gandalf?” Bilbo asked.

“He’s flying himself in,” Thorin said. “Gandalf has a small home in New York. It would be pointless for him to fly in with us and stay at the hotel. We’ll meet him tomorrow.”

It was a typical uneventful flight. Take off was a bit bumpy, but Thorin had had worse. Bilbo, on the other hand, gripped the armrests until his knuckles were white. Thorin chuckled as his nephews teased Bilbo for it.

“Never been on a plane before?” Fili nudged Bilbo.

“I’ve never had need to,” Bilbo said stiffly.

“Just hope we don’t get any sort of turbulence,” Kili snickered. “Last time I was on a plane this big, Fili, Mom and I were going to Paris, and there was a moment that was a bit touch and go. The plane was rocking side to side and back to front and rumbling and shaking and-”

Bilbo face, which had been pale, turned a faint shade of green and he pushed himself from the chair, running to the small bathroom on the side. Fili and Kili laughed to themselves.

“Be nice to the poor man,” Balin chided the boys. “He’s probably never left London. Now he’s on a flight to New York. I seem to remember _your_ first flight went much the same.”

“What’s it like in New York?” Ori asked innocently. “Is it really as big as they say it is?”

“Bigger,” Dwalin answered. “Everything is metal and glass, buildings taller than Big Ben of London. The people are loud and you can’t even hear yourself think from the noise.”

“Why are we going there then?” Ori asked.

“It’s one of the more frequent flights from Europe to America,” Thorin said. “And New York is one of the biggest cities in America; we can lie low there for a while.”

“How long is the flight?” Ori’s voice piped up once more.

“Eight hours,” Thorin said.

“Eight hours in first class,” Nori said smoothly, the wicked smirk clear in his voice. “Anyone eager to join the Mile High Club?”

“Is that an open invitation or are you talking to Bofur?” Oin asked.

“Well,” Nori turned to Bofur with an overt wink.

“You’ll have to come and get me,” Bofur put his arms out, smiling.

Nori made to move forward, only for Dori to trip him on his way. Nori laughed and sat cross-legged on the floor, not caring a bit. Bilbo came back from the bathroom, looking less green, and stepped delicately over Nori, back to his seat.

“Since we’ve got eight hours of time to kill, why not share some stories?” Nori suggested from his spot on the ground. “I make it a point not to work with men who aren’t willing to share a few secrets.”

“You know all my secrets already,” Bofur said.

“Oh, just get a room,” Gloin chuckled.

“I guess I’ll go first then,” Nori shrugged. “The first thing I ever stole was a bag of chips when we first moved to Las Vegas.”

“I knew it!” Ori exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at his brother. “Dori didn’t believe me!”

With that outburst, conversation broke forth. Nori told endless stories of his various thefts, most of which made Dori shout in outrage and Ori blush with embarrassment. Gloin pulled out his cell phone and told Bilbo all about his wife and son, flipping through pictures, a wistful smile on his face. Bofur entertained Fili and Kili with his stories about being a conman.

Lunch on the plane was a riotous affair, the food and drink flowing freely. Thorin, keeping mostly to himself, couldn’t help but smile. This was a team of men he could trust, a team of men who could trust each other. Nori was right to start a conversation, even if it was giving Thorin a migraine.

The stories continued their exchange and Thorin found himself chuckling as Dwalin told a story of how he and Balin met up with Bofur. Still, he had no stories to offer himself, at least none that would entertain this lot. For what did Thorin do in the past 17 years that could compare with these thieves and con artists? Not even his darker moments, right after the fire, could possibly compare to their heists and thefts. He did good, honest work. He made a life for himself, made a living. Thorin hired these men to do a job with him. He didn’t call them in to make friends.

“What about you Bilbo?” Kili said suddenly.

“Yeah,” Fili agreed with his brother. “What great stories can you tell us?”

Bilbo, who was in the middle of a discussion with Bombur about food, turned to face the boys quizzically. Thorin, who had been ignoring most of the conversation, turned in his chair to face his new burglar.

“I… there’s nothing to tell,” Bilbo said quickly, his ears turning red.

“Come on, tell us,” Bofur put a comforting hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. “It’s only fair.”

“I suppose, there is one story,” Bilbo hedged a bit. “If you must know…”

“Tell us!” Kili practically begged, his young eyes widened with anticipation.

“Very well,” Bilbo grinned. “There was once a hitman, one of the best actually. No target was too big and no target was off limits. Nothing was too difficult for this man, oh no. He could kill with a breath and was hired by the best of the best. It’s said that he was the hitman to call when there was no one else for the job. He was so good that he was never caught. No one know a thing about him, other than he left each crime scene without a speck of evidence. Just a dead body.”

“And what happened to him?” Kili asked, literally hanging on the edge of his seat. “Is he even real?”

“Of course he’s real!” Bilbo looked offended. “He was my great uncle.”

“No!” Fili fell backwards. “You’re lying!”

“I am not!”

“You are too! There’s no way your great uncle was a great hitman!”

“Why not?” Bofur asked, looking at Bilbo curiously.

“Come on, you can’t honestly believe that?” Kili looked at the conman.

“I lie for a living, I know when someone’s telling the truth,” Bofur said. “Your uncle was hitman then?”

“Great uncle,” Bilbo corrected. “And he was. One of the best, actually. He was from my mother’s side.”

“What happened to him, then?” Kili demanded.

“He died,” Bilbo said. “Killed on a hit.”

An awkward silence descended on them. Kili shifted in his seat, looking ashamed of bringing up such a tender subject. The others all shifted as well, the silence growing more uncomfortable by the second.

“If you’re half as good as he was then we shouldn’t have anything to worry about,” Thorin said finally.

Bilbo gave Thorin a grateful smile as the plane started its descent. They were landing in New York City. Bilbo sat next to Bofur, white knuckling the armrests again.

It was nearly afternoon by the time Thorin and his crew stepped onto the street, luggage bags in hand. Thorin rattled the keys in his hand and gestured for them to get into the rental car. It was a tight squeeze and the color was awful, but they all managed to fit.

“This all seems… conspicuous,” Bilbo pointed out, as they drove closer and closer to downtown Manhattan. “Aren’t you worried someone will notice?”

“This is New York City,” Dwalin said. “We come in, first class international, book hotel rooms for a meeting in downtown Manhattan, rent a ridiculous car, and we’re perfectly normal. We aren’t tourists, we aren’t strangers, we are professionals.”

“Does it really work like that?”

“In these kind of cities it does,” Balin patted Bilbo’s shoulder. “You come in loud or you go home.”

The hotel was luxurious and center of downtown, just as Dwalin said. Fili, Kili, Ori, and Bilbo were in complete awe, looking up at the towering buildings with something akin to fear and amazement. The four of them had to be pushed into the hotel lobby. Thorin and Balin already determined the bedrooms and handed out the keycards.

“I feel like I’m on a school field trip,” Thorin sighed, eyeing Bofur and Nori as they ran up to their room with mischievous grins on their faces.

“Agreed,” Balin nodded. “Do you have any plans for the rest of the day?”

“None,” Thorin shook his head. “Tell the boys to go play tourist if they wish. I still expect everyone in the meeting room tomorrow morning, 9 am sharp.”

Balin nodded and scurried off. Thorin fell into step next to Dwalin, his roommate. They entered their room silently, not bothering to turn on the lights.

“I’m heading out,” Dwalin said, tossing his suitcase on the bed by the window. “I’ll take your nephews and Ori around, show them some sights. It’ll be good for the lads. You wanna come with?”

Thorin knew what Dwalin was doing, and he appreciated it, but he had no interest in seeing the sights of New York City. He’d seen them enough.

“No thanks,” he shook his head with a small smile. “You go on, I’m sure Fili and Kili are dying to see the city.”

Dwalin shrugged and, sliding the hotel key in his wallet, left the room. Thorin sat on the bed, head in his hands. There was one person on his mind. Bilbo Baggins. In the space of 48 hours, the little Londoner had defied all expectations. He ran through the airport to find them and told the story of his great uncle. It was hard to believe that this was the same man who fumbled over his words at the state of his apartment yesterday.

Perhaps Gandalf was right in choosing Bilbo to come along. A man like that, small and easily overlooked, would be key in taking back his fortune. Saul wouldn’t expect it. Thorin stood up and looked out his window. It looked down over the bay, and Thorin spotted Dwalin on the street, toting Fili, Kili, Ori and Bilbo around. He only hoped they wouldn’t be too exhausted in the morning.

Ori was enthralled. His brothers had been to New York City before, Ori had seen pictures, but none of it could describe the grandeur of the city. He was planning to spend the day in his room, brushing up on his hacking skills, maybe doing a bit of research, but then Dwalin came knocking, asking if Ori wanted to see the city. Ori had been ready to decline, some excuse about research on his lips, but Dori spoke right over him, closing his laptop and pushing him out the door.

Ori couldn’t complain, especially not when Bilbo joined them. Dwalin took them, along with Fili and Kili, all over the city. They had lunch at a little café, looking over the bay and the tiny green statue out in the ocean. Then they went to Time Square and looked up at the giant screens scattered across the buildings, boasting of movies and Broadway hits. They saw the Empire State Building and Fili did a fantastic impression of King Kong. When Kili started to complain about his feet hurting, they sat in Central Park.

“This is nothing like London,” Bilbo said, leaning his head back.

“Nothing like Italy either,” Ori sighed. “I like it though.

“You’re from Italy?” Bilbo cracked an eye open. “But… your accent.”

“Dori moved us there a few years ago,” Ori fiddled with his sleeves. He was young then, just graduated from college, and he couldn't pass up the opportunity to live in Italy and continue his historical studies. “I never got the chance to pick up any accent. We lived in Vegas before that.”

“Oh,” Bilbo said softly. “I’ve lived in London my whole life. Is Italy nice then?”

“It’s beautiful,” Ori sighed. “It’s really peaceful and there’s history at every corner. Not like… this place.”

Bilbo hummed in agreement and turned to see Fili and Kili splashing at each other in the pond, Dwalin scolding them from the shore. After Central Park, Dwalin took them to get some authentic New York pizza, which was divine, if Ori was honest with himself. By then, the sun was setting over the harbor and the jet lag was finally making itself known.

Stumbling back into his room, Ori couldn’t even remember the walk back. He remembered Dwalin’s hand on his shoulder, Bilbo walking beside him, and Fili and Kili running on ahead, still filled with some pent up energy. As expected, Dori was waiting up for Ori, sitting at the desk with a few papers in front of him.

“Did you have a good time?” he asked.

“Best,” Ori mumbled, falling face first onto his bed. “Night.”

He didn’t hear his brother’s reply, having already fallen deep into sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Fili was the first one awake. It was seven in the morning, much too early for anyone else to be up and about. He turned and faced his brother. Kili was awake too, turning to look at Fili, twin smiles breaking out on their faces.

“I can’t believe we’re in,” Fili laughed breathlessly.

“Told you we’d be fine,” Kili joined his brother in laughing.

They laid there in silence, the way close siblings often do, not saying anything, just letting out the occasional giggle. Fili rubbed his eyes and sat up, stretching out his back, sighing as it popped.

“Should we get to the conference room?” Fili asked.

“Not yet,” Kili spread out his limbs, sighing with contentment. “I bet no one else is up yet, why get there first?”

“Maybe to prove that we belong here?” Fili chucked a pillow at Kili’s head. “Come on then, up and at ‘em!”

Kili groaned and flopped out of bed, landing on the floor face down. Fili rolled his eyes and took a quick shower. Kili had always been the lazy brother, the one who loved his bed too much to leave it in the mornings. Once he was out, however, Kili wouldn’t stand still for any amount of time.

Within an hour, the two of them were dressed and ready. Kili was standing in front of the mirror, messing with the hem of his shirt and muttering frantically under his breath. Fili laughed and took his brothers hands in his, forcing him to stop.

“It’s fine, you look fine, stop worrying,” Fili said.

“I take back everything I said,” Kili whispered frantically. “This was a bad idea, a really bad idea. What were we thinking?”

“You’re worried, I understand,” Fili soothed his brother, rubbings circles with his thumbs on the back of Kili’s hands. “Trust me, okay? We can do this. It’s for Uncle Thorin, right? We’ll fit right in.”

“Right,” Kili nodded, taking a deep breath. “For Uncle Thorin.”

“That’s right,” Fili dropped Kili’s hands. “Can we go now?”

They gathered their things, not quite sure what to bring, and left their room. Kili fidgeted the entire way down the hall to the conference room, his eyes shifting around. Fili was about to knock some sense into his little brother, when someone else came up to them.

“’Ello, boys,” Bofur greeted them, clapping a hand on their shoulders, stepping between them. “Ready for this?”

“For what?” Kili asked.

“To pull of the biggest heist in history, of course!” Bofur laughed. “This is going to be legendary. Our names will never be forgotten if we pull this one off.”

“You think we can do it?” Fili asked.

“Oh aye,” Bofur winked. “In a few short minutes, you will be part of a heist planned by the greatest thieves and con men to grace this good earth.”

“The greatest?” Kili looked skeptical. “Are you sure?”

“Didn’t you listen to us on the ride here?” Bofur eyed the boys.

“It sounded pretty exaggerated to me,” Kili said.

Bofur groaned. He pushed them through the doors to the conference room and disappeared behind a corner. The brothers shared a glance then looked at the room. It was a large room with a U shaped table in the center, fifteen chairs surrounding it. At the crest of the U was a large whiteboard. The back had a table covered with food and drinks. Balin and Dwalin were already there, setting folders down at every seat.

“Don’t just stand there, come take a seat,” Balin motioned for the two to come over.

Hesitantly, Fili and Kili sat down at the table, the very base of the U. In unison, they reached forward and flipped the folder open. Inside were dozens of sheets of paper, pictures and hotel schematics.

“What’s all this for then?” Kili asked, leafing through the pages.

“You’ll see soon enough,” Balin said.

The brothers shared another glance. Kili’s eyes were wide, something close to fear shining through. Fili gave him a comforting smile, nudging him with his shoulder, a silent way of saying “I’m here, everything will be fine.”

Ori came in next, clutching a laptop to his chest and pushing thick glasses up his nose. He took a seat by Kili and plugged the laptop in, starting it up.

“How old are you, Ori?” Kili asked. “You don’t look much older than us and I didn’t really get the chance to ask yesterday.”

“Kili!” Fili elbowed his brother in the ribs. He leaned forward to look at Ori, “Sorry about my brother. He doesn’t have a filter.”

“No, no, he’s alright,” Ori said, cheeks faintly pink. “I’m 31. I just look very young for my age.”

Fili swore he heard Kili's jaw hit the table and he snickered to himself.

Slowly the rest of the group trickled in. Dori and Nori sat by their brother protectively, flipping through the folders idly. Gloin and Oin sat near the front, talking in hushed whispers; Fili caught the name Gimli in there. Bofur slid in with a coy smile, slipping next to Fili with ease. Bifur and Bombur came next, sitting next to him. Thorin came last, as usual, making a somewhat grand entrance with Gandalf and Bilbo by his side. Bilbo rushed in and practically fell into the chair by Nori.

“I thought I was going to be late!” Bilbo whispered frantically. “Balin didn’t really wake me up this morning.”

“Shall we get started then?” Dwalin interrupted Bilbo, tapping his toe impatiently. “We have two weeks and I don’t want to lose any time.”

Fili straightened up a bit, nudging Kili to do the same. They were lucky to get in, now they had to prove they deserved to stay.

“You’ll notice in the folders, Balin and I have compiled every bit of information we know about Saul Fischer,” Dwalin started. “If there is anything we might have missed, anything that you might know now is the time to speak up.”

Dori flipped through the papers frantically, eyes skimming the details rapidly. Fili remembered hearing that Dori used to be a bellhop for Saul Fischer before working for Thrain; he knows more about the casino than anyone else here. Fili looked down at the papers, thumbing to the page with details on the casino. He knew nothing about casino security, but it looked like Saul Fischer pulled out all the stops. There were guards at every entrance to the casino, cameras at every corner, and a slew of guards walking through the gambling floor.

“I can’t see anything different,” Dori sighed. “But it’s been years since I worked there. He will have decoy safes, I know that much. Saul wouldn’t dare keep that much money somewhere it would easily be found.”

“We can deal with decoy safes,” Dwalin nodded. “Today we start the plan. The floor is open to any ideas you may have.”

Fili took in a breath. This was it, no turning back. He nudged Kili slightly and gave a soft smile. The men present shifted forward, opening their folders and picking up pens. Fili was quick to mimic them, trying to look as attentive as he could.

“This isn’t a plan, but something to consider,” Ori said softly. “Saul Fischer knows all of you, doesn’t he? I did a bit of research and… well; none of you can really slide under his notice, can you?”

“What of it?” Dwalin asked.

“What if we use that to our advantage?” Ori leaned forward. “We throw Bofur and Dori into the casino, maybe Dwalin and Balin. You four will be enough to keep everyone’s attention on you. A conman, two hitmen, and a former employee making a fuss at a table? That’d get my attention if I were a guard.”

“That’s a start,” Balin nodded. “A good start, actually. What do you do?”

“Mostly computers,” Ori flushed, tapping his laptop as proof.

“That takes care of the guards then,” Dwalin nodded. “Any grand schemes for the cameras, Ori?”

“I could hack into the feed,” Ori shrugged, his face turning redder. “I mean, I can’t alter it or anything without getting found out, but these cameras are on a timed system. If we knew when the cameras would be looking at certain parts of the casino, we could plan around it, couldn’t we?”

“Oh, hey,” Bofur leaned forward, “here’s an idea. Casino cameras lock onto mischief, like a mother’s eyes on stains. If me, Dori, and these two lugs cause a bit of trouble, that camera would zero in and nothing else would be seen.”

“I’ll lead the team to find the safe,” Nori offered. “If Ori can get us a visual on the inside of the casino, get us to find all the back entrances and employee hallways, then we can search for the right safe.”

“How fast can you crack a safe?” Dwalin asked. “Still under three minutes?”

“I’m a bit rusty, but three minutes should be plenty.”

“That’s a long time for a heist,” Gloin shook his head. “Even if Saul only had three safes, that would take nearly ten minutes before finding the money, not including packing it away. If the ruckus isn’t cleared up in five, the security guards will manhandle you from the casino and we are SOL boys.”

“So we need to go in _knowing_ which safe has the fortune in it,” Thorin surmised. “How do we figure that out?”

“And once we have the money, how are we going to get out?” Bombur piped up.

“And how quickly will Saul realize he’s been robbed?” Oin added. “A heist is no good if the police come halfway through.”

“These are things we can’t plan unless we’re in Las Vegas,” Dwalin sat down and rubbed his head. “We need to know the layout of the casino. We need to know road conditions and every secret entrance to that casino. We need to see schedules and appointments and shift changes. Thorin, mate, this heist can’t go on until we get to Vegas.”

“We have to try,” Thorin insisted. “That money moves in a month. I don’t know where it will go.”

“Why aren’t we in Vegas?” Bilbo asked, speaking for the first time. “I mean, we’re already in America, why can’t we just fly in, stay at Vegas for two weeks, plan there instead. Why are we in New York?”

Thorin gave a derisive snort and rolled his eyes. Bilbo ignored him.

“You don’t know anything about Saul Fischer, do you?” Dori guessed.

“Saul Fischer _owns_ Las Vegas,” Gloin said emphatically.

“You can’t own a city,” Bilbo argued.

“He does,” Oin agreed with his brother. “He’s bought off every public official in the city, practically owns the police force, and can see into every casino and hotel along the strip. Nothing happens in Las Vegas that he isn’t aware of.”

“Even if we went in under fake names and disguises, he’d know,” Bofur added. “He never forgets a face.”

“So we need to plan as much here, now, and work out details as we go,” Thorin said. “The last thing we need is to scare Saul from his hole with my fortune in his hands.”

“We take this one step at a time,” Balin said. “If we sit here griping about better ways then we won’t get anything planned.”

The rest of the morning was spent hashing out some of the finer details of distracting the guards. Fili tried to keep up with the conversation, writing down times and details of the guards, glancing at Kili whose eyes were widened once more.

Dwalin brought up the topic of guns, musing aloud what kind of firepower they would need on this heist. Bifur rapidly signed to Bombur, who translated for his mute cousin. Bifur looked alive, signing about weapons and standard issue police side arms. Dwalin’s eyes brightened, a fellow weapons expert. Dori jumped into the fray then, arguing against so many weapons. He and Dwalin got into a heated argument about whether or not they should kill the guards in the backrooms and Fili felt ice in his gut. It seemed as though hardly any time had passed before Balin was calling a break for lunch, pulling his brother aside while Ori took Dori away from the table.

Fili jumped out of his seat, grabbed Kili by the arm, and dragged him from the hotel. Kili threw an apology over their shoulder to Thorin. Fili didn’t look back. He couldn’t risk looking at Kili without bursting into tears. Once out to the busy, sunlight street, Fili let him go. His hands were trembling.

“What’s up with you?” Kili asked, ever observant of his brother.

“Not here,” Fili shook his head.

He looked around the busy street, up at the towering buildings, and turned the corner around the hotel. He didn’t know where he was going; he just needed to find somewhere quiet with food. He pulled Kili along with him the entire way, weaving through streets until they came to a Subway. Fidgeting, Fili ordered for both him and Kili, the same sandwiches since they were children. It was only when they were sitting at their table, tucked away in a shady corner, that Fili finally spoke.

“I’m scared, Kee,” Fili whispered.

“Scared of what?” Kili asked, eating with gusto.

“Everything,” Fili sighed, leaning back in his seat. “I don’t know just… reading all that stuff about Saul and his security then Dwalin started talking about guards and killing them and I just–” Fili took a deep breath, feeling tears. “We’re kids, Kee.”

“Fee, listen to me,” Kili set down his food and took a long sip of his drink. “We aren’t kids anymore, alright? We’re adults now! We belong on this heist, Uncle Thorin said so!”

“I don’t know…”

“He’s been training us for this, haven’t you noticed?” Kili leaned forward, grabbing Fili’s hand. “Ever since we were toddlers. He told us the story of the fortune, he brought Dwalin over to teach us how to shoot a gun; this is our destiny.”

“You still believe in that destiny crap then, do you?” Fili couldn’t help but tease, a small smile working its way onto his face.

“You know I’m right,” Kili smirked, pulling his hand away. “I’m not worried.”

“How can you not be?” Fili asked, grabbing Kili’s hand tighter. He needed to know why his little brother was so calm. “How can you not be worried when we’re going to go against people with guns? People who are better than us and stronger than us? We might get shot at. We might die, Kee, you know that, don’t you?”

“I’m not worried because I’ve got you,” Kili said, looking at his brother quizzically. “Isn’t that obvious? As long as I’ve got you, my big brother Fee, I have nothing to worry about. We look out for each other, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Fili nodded, feeling the knot of apprehension in his chest loosen. “Always.”


	6. Chapter 6

Saul Fischer looked at the video feed in front of him. His pale fingers were pressed against his lips and his eyes narrowed. The video feed was fuzzy, black and white, taken from airport surveillance cameras. It showed fourteen men walking through the lobby of the JFK International Airport. In any other circumstance, Saul would have brushed it away, but this was no ordinary circumstance.

“You are certain this is him?” Saul looked over the laptop screen.

The man before him trembled visibly, wringing his hands together. He was one of Saul’s newer employees, prone to mistakes, eager to please. Saul couldn’t remember his name presently; it might have started with a J. John? Or James, perhaps?

“I am very certain,” the man, James (that sounded correct) nodded, sweat trickling down his forehead. “This man is Thorin Oakenshield.”

Saul reached forward, pressing a few buttons on his laptop and zooming in on the video. A fuzzy face filled the screen. Saul narrowed his eyes. It had been seventeen years but Thorin’s face held up well. The sharp nose, the concerned eyebrows, the thin mouth, were all the same of a younger Thorin.

“That’s him,” Saul agreed, leaning back in his chair. “And, if I’m not mistaken, he’s gathered a dangerous entourage.”

“We can’t name all the men who were seen leaving the plane with Mr. Oakenshield, but we saw the Feldman brothers, Nori Richmond, and Bofur.”

Saul let out a breathless chuckle. “Looks like a heist.”

“Yes, sir,” James nodded.

Saul flicked the laptop shut. He stood up, straightened his immaculate suit, and stepped around the desk of his office. The office was small and square, his desk pushed up against the far wall. The walls were lined with newspaper clippings of his success and various photographs of him with various members of high authority.

“Excuse me, sir,” James said. “Aren’t you worried?”

“Worried about what?” Saul asked.

“They’re going to steal your money.”

“They’re going to _try_,” Saul corrected. “It’ll take more than a few thieves and conmen to steal my fortune.”

He left the office, turned a corner neatly, and took the elevator to his penthouse suite. Unlike most of his competition, Saul never left his casino. He lived in the hotel where he could keep an eye out for his money. It felt safer, considering where the money came from. It also doubled as protection. Nothing happened in his casino that he didn’t know of. Saul had made his fair share of enemies. He needed his protection.

Out on the balcony, Saul pulled out a cigarette, lighting it quickly. He blew the smoke out in the warm air, watching it curl against the sky. He scrolled through contacts in his phone until he came across the name Azog Decker. He pressed call.

“Hey boss,” Azog’s deep voice greeted him. “Please tell me you have a job. The boys are getting restless.”

Saul Fischer didn’t call Azog in very often. Azog was a hotheaded liability, prone to getting himself into trouble because of his smart mouth, but he was also the best at the job. Saul needed the best for this hit.

“How do you feel about New York City?” Saul asked.

“Is there a private jet?”

Azog Decker was the best hitman. He and his team could perform any hit with rapid precision. They were fast, lethal, and did not come cheap. Lucky for them, Saul Fischer was loaded and needed an elite task force of assassins.

The private jet was nice, one of Azog’s favorite perks. Saul had handed him a manila folder, thick with papers. While his team examined their weapons, checking rounds and sharpening blades, he flipped through the pages.

Their target was Thorin Oakenshield, heir to the fortune that Saul rightfully stole. Apparently, and this was all speculation on Saul’s part, Thorin had gathered a motley crew of thieves and con artists and was planning to steal back his money. Unimportant details for Azog. What was important was where Thorin was currently housed.

The Marriott in downtown New York wasn’t the most high-class hotel the city had to offer, but it was still a good one. There were three ways to handle this situation. First, they could go in, guns blazing, and treat it as a hostage situation. Second, they could go in smooth and quiet, sneak up and kill Thorin. Third, they could wait until Thorin showed his ugly mug and take him by surprise.

It wasn’t too difficult a decision when Azog thought about it. He and Thorin had a history together and Azog had a debt to settle.

“Boys,” Azog announced, face twisting into a smirk, “we are going in hot.”

“When are we landing?”

“2 in the morning. We land, sleep for a few hours, and strike the hotel at noon. With the lunch rush, it’ll be the optimal time to trap Oakenshield inside. We need to be at the top of our game. Oakenshield is not to be underestimated and he has gathered a team of highly skilled, very dangerous, men. Among these men are the Feldman brothers who were discharged from the army, Gloin Monroe, the man who can make explosives out of anything, Nori Richmond, the most wanted thief in the world, and Bofur the conman. We will go in hot and we will go in strong, do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir!” his men shouted in unison.

Azog nodded and turned back to the papers. He couldn’t help but let out a low chuckle. Soon, very soon, Thorin Oakenshield would get his comeuppance.


	7. Chapter 7

Dori fretted the next morning. In eight hours, they had managed to plan very little for the heist. Yes, they managed to plan how to distract the guards. Yes, Ori managed to get the schematics for The Firedrake Casino. Yet they were moving far too slowly for Dori to feel comfortable. There was still the small matter of their escape, finding the money, and not getting bloody shot at!

Still, Dori hid behind his perfect posture and pristine manners. Dwalin and Balin were stressed enough for the whole team, no need for Dori to add to it. Today, of all days, Dwalin was discussion gun safety. It took all of Dori’s self-control not to roll his eyes and leave. The point of a heist was to make sure you don’t shoot guns. A good heist is one that leaves everyone alive. Dwalin had caught wind that little Bilbo knew nothing of weapons and, pressured by Thorin no doubt, gave his lecture.

Ori wasn’t paying attention either, instead his focus was entirely on his laptop. Nori and Bofur were doing that weird thing where they talk without saying a word. Fili and Kili were doodling on a scrap piece of paper, giggling to themselves. Everyone else, it seemed, was prepared to drift off to dreamland. A good idea, if Dori did say so himself. He had just wriggled himself into a comfortable position, when Ori let out a squeal.

“If you don’t mind, Ori,” Dwalin growled, “I am trying to teach our burglar how not to shoot himself in the foot!”

“Oh, sorry,” Ori’s face changed completely, his eyes narrowing and a frown creasing his forehead. Dori knew that look. Ori was about to sass Dwalin. “I just thought you might like to know there are _seven men_ downstairs, with guns, shouting for Thorin’s blood.”

“What?!” Thorin turned to Ori, his eyes blazing. “How can you be sure?”

“I hacked into the hotel’s security cameras,” Ori said easily. “To make sure my skills are still sharp, you know.”

Dwalin, Thorin, and Balin rushed to Ori, turning his laptop around and looking at the screen. Dori peered around and saw the grainy hotel feed. Seven men, all armed to the teeth, demanding Thorin’s room number.

“We need to get out of here, and we need to go _now_,” Balin said. “Five minutes, grab only the things you need, meet back here. Move!”

Dori grabbed Ori’s hand, pressed a squeeze to Nori’s shoulder, and ran back to his room, dragging his brother along. He flung the door open and scrambled around the room. He thought about the things he would need and threw them into his duffel bag. Spare clothes, weapons, money, all went in. He spun around and saw Ori struggling with his suitcase, looking frantically around the room.

“Too big,” Dori kicked it away. “Just pack your satchel. Bring all your electronics, a spare change of clothes, and all your money. Everything else has to stay.”

Ori, eyes wide with fear, nodded. Dori slung his bag over his shoulder, taking out his pistol and tucking it into the back of his pants. He checked his watch. Three minutes. He grabbed his brother, not concerned if Ori managed to get everything he needed, and tugged him back to the conference room.

Everyone else was there, faces flushed and bags over their shoulders. Dori did a quick headcount, just to make sure. Bofur and Nori were standing to the side, guns out and whispering to each other. Fili and Kili, grinning like maniacs, stood by their uncle and Bilbo. Bifur was signing to Bombur frantically. Gloin and Oin were by the door, glancing out occasionally with guns at the ready. Dwalin and Balin were talking quickly, gesturing wildly. Gandalf, however, was gone.

“Where’s Gandalf?” Ori whispered.

Dori shrugged. Wherever that man went was none of his business, really. What was his business was making sure Ori made it out of this hotel alive. Quivering, Ori pulled out his tablet, typing quickly on the touch screen, bringing up all the cameras in the hotel. He gave a small squeak and ran up to Dwalin.

“Gandalf is in the lobby with them!” Ori exclaimed. “I don’t know what he’s doing, but it looks like he’s buying us time.”

Dwalin and Balin looked at the tablet. Ori was shaking now and the boy had every right to. He was too inexperienced to be here and Dori knew it.

“I don’t know about you fellas, but I’d like to get out of here,” Bofur said, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Do we have a plan?”

“Down the stairs, out the back,” Dwalin said. “It’s our only exit. These guys are coming up the elevator.”

“We leave in pairs of two or three,” Thorin said. “We meet in Central Park, the Castle. Try to blend in and move slowly.”

Dwalin took point, pushing Fili and Kili behind him. In a quick, straight and silent line, they moved through the hotel. Dori kept an arm on Ori, making sure he was right there. Ori, however, kept his nose on his tablet. He rushed forward, coming to Dwalin and pointing at the screen. Dwalin cursed.

“Change of plans,” he said. “Looks like the police are getting ready to surround the hotel, calling it a hostage situation.”

Nori let out a stream of colorful swears from behind Dori.

“We can still make it out if we move fast,” Balin assured the team.

Stealth abandoned, they ran. Dori sprinted to get back by Ori, holding his brother tight by the elbow. It was a mad rush, fourteen men running down the stairs, bags banging against them and guns hastily being hidden. Dori turned around to double check on Nori, who was running beside Bofur, who was keeping a firm hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. They burst out into the sunlight, Bilbo bending over, breathing heavily.

Balin was by the little Londoner in an instant, dragging him off and slowing their walk, trying to look like casual tourists. Oin came up to Dori, striking up a conversation as they walked with Ori in the opposite direction.

As casually as they could, Dori, Ori and Oin made their way to Central Park. They paused every once in a while to take pictures, to blend in with the crowd. They arrived at Central Park two hours later, pausing at a street vender to buy some lunch. Ori had relaxed considerably and was running his mouth as fast as he could.

At the Castle, they waited. The knot in Dori’s stomach loosened with every new arrival. First came Bombur and Bifur, who sat and twisted their hands with anxiety. Then Fili and Kili came bounding up. Bilbo and Balin walked up slowly, talking softly. Thorin and Dwalin appeared suddenly and silent, almost scared poor Ori when they showed. Finally, Bofur, Nori and Gloin sauntered up, smiling and cheerful. They huddled inside the Castle, the same question in all their eyes.

What do we do now?

They were all in agreement that they couldn’t call off the heist. They already landed in America. They had put money and effort to performing this heist. Unfortunately, the rules of engagement have changed.

“Do you know who those men were?” Bilbo asked Thorin.

“I know one of them,” Thorin said, his eyes dark. “His name is Azog Decker. He and I were… rivals I suppose. Before I started working in hotels again, I got into a bit of trouble. Azog was only a kid, fourteen or fifteen, maybe, but he was a good assassin. I got into those circles and… well… I got better than him.”

“Not Azog Decker the Defiler,” Dori moaned, pulling Ori and Nori by him, as if by keeping his little brothers close, he could protect them. “Please tell me you didn’t make enemies with him. Of all the men in the world, Thorin.”

“I didn’t think he’d turn into a dangerous and evil hitman!” Thorin snapped. “He was just a scrawny little kid when I met him.”

“I thought you threw him off,” Dwalin said. “You told us that he wasn’t a problem anymore and that he wouldn’t be able to find you.”

“He can’t find me.”

“Then how can he be chasing after us?!”

“I don’t know!”

“I hate to break this up, but we need to keep our heads here,” Bofur interrupted them smoothly. “I don’t care who this Azog guy is, the point is that he’s after us. We need to steal a car, maybe three, and get the hell outta dodge before they find us.”

No one disagreed with Bofur and the conversation turned to escape. In any other circumstances, Dori would have protested against stealing three cars, but these were not normal circumstances. If what Thorin said was true and Azog Decker was hunting them, then they needed to do everything in their power to avoid him. They walked a few blocks until they found a huge parking garage.

They stole three nondescript cars, a black truck, a light blue jeep, and a tan suburban. They piled into the cars and sped away. Dori was crammed in the back of the suburban between Gloin and Oin. Ori got to sit in the front by Bombur because he was the computer whiz and he was going to direct them out of traffic and out of New York City.

Bilbo never liked cars. He preferred walking. Yet here he was, in a jeep, sitting beside Dwalin the very-big-man with two teenage boys making a racket in the backseat. They had been driving for what felt like ages. Ori called a few times, just to give a few directions. Nothing helped to alleviate Bilbo’s boredom. Fili and Kili, the boys-who-weren’t-twins, started a game of I-Spy and Bilbo groaned, leaning backwards in his chair.

“How long have we been driving?” he asked Dwalin.

“Few hours,” Dwalin shrugged. “We’ll have to pull over soon. Almost out of gas.”

“Out of gas?!” Bilbo repeated. “There’s nowhere to pull over though! There is nothing out here! It’s just a long stretch of road and hundreds of other cars that have places to go and aren’t being chased by men with guns!”

“Are you stressed out?” Kili asked, unhelpfully, putting his head on Bilbo’s armrest.

“You look stressed,” Fili added.

“Very stressed.”

“It’s not good for you to look that stressed.”

“Or be that stressed.”

“Uncle is _always_ stressed out and look at him! White hairs already.”

“And a permanent frown.”

“Would you two just shut up!” Bilbo exclaimed, turning in his seat to face the boys. “Yes, I’m stressed, which is a perfectly normal reaction to being on the run!”

Fili and Kili looked like they were about to offer some argument, but Dwalin shushed them, gesturing to the cell phone against his ear.

“This isn’t over!” Bilbo hissed to the boys.

He turned back to face forward, but not fast enough to miss the look that passed between them. He would have to keep his guard up. Dwalin, on the phone with Ori, was discussing a place to pull over. There was talk of a hotel, dinner, and finding a new set of cars. Bilbo shut it all away and looked out the window as the sun began to set.

Bilbo must’ve fallen asleep, for Fili and Kili were poking him awake. Blearily, he opened his eyes to see that they have stopped. They were parked outside a hotel, the others were already hauling their stuff inside.

“Leave him be, boys,” Bofur sauntered up. “Your uncle is assigning rooms.”

The boys grinned, leaving a last, parting poke, before racing for the front door. Bilbo, still fuzzy from sleep, stumbled from the car, clutching his bag to his chest.

“Easy does it,” Bofur caught him easily. “You’ve had a rough day. Though, we didn’t expect guns to be an issue so soon.”

Bilbo just mumbled something in agreement and allowed Bofur to lead him to the hotel.

“This time we’re bunking four to a room,” Bofur said, pushing Bilbo gently into the elevator and jabbing a button. “Thorin thinks it’ll look less conspicuous. So you’ll be sharing with me, my brother and cousin.”

“What about the others?” Bilbo asked. So far, it seemed as though Bofur was attached to the hip with Nori. It made more sense that those two would share a room.

“Don’t know,” Bofur shrugged. “I asked for you to be in my room, with Bifur and Bombur, because we’re going to do a bit of gun training.”

Those words were like a splash of cold water. Bilbo felt very awake now and was looking up at Bofur with pure terror.

“But… Dwalin talked all about it with me before we ran off.”

“That was theory, this is practical,” Bofur laughed and pulled Bilbo into their room. Bifur and Bombur were already there.

Bifur scared Bilbo a bit. The man didn’t speak and his eyes were crazed. There was a round scar on his forehead that he rubbed occasionally, and his hand was never far from the gun on his hip. He knew that Bifur used to be a police officer and that there was an accident that left him unable to speak. No one talked about it.

Bombur, on the other hand, was a kindred spirit. Bilbo spent much of the plane ride to New York talking with him concerning food. They had a love for food and home comforts. Bombur fawned over his wife and children in a way that made Bilbo want to settle down.

“Bifur was a cop, back in the day,” Bofur announced. “He’s been teaching kids to shoot guns ever since he joined the force.”

“I’m not a child,” Bilbo pouted.

“You’ve got the same experience as one,” Bofur pointed out. “So go sit there with them, learn about guns and safety and whatnot, I’ll be back.”

“Bu– where are you going?” Bilbo called, only for Bofur to wink and slam the door shut.

“Don’t mind him,” Bombur sat by Bilbo. “He’s probably off to scout out the city, find some supplies, maybe con a few men at the bar, the usual. Hopefully he’ll bring us dinner. Now, guns.”

Bifur, with Bombur translating, taught Bilbo gun safety. He told him where the safety was, how to properly hold a gun, how to stand in anticipation for a kick. Bifur, more than once, complained that until Bilbo actually shot a gun, he would be at a complete loss for how to better teach him.

“None of us have a gun to spare for you,” Bombur said. “Hopefully we’ll find on along the way. Still, it’s better for you to learn how to shoot, in case the need arises.”

“I didn’t think it’d be that difficult,” Bilbo picked up Bifur’s gun reverently. “Just point and shoot.”

Bifur shook his head and sighed to Bombur. “He says that shooting is easy, it’s aiming that’s the difficult part. But as long as you don’t aim at any of us, things should be fine.”

“Does everyone have this gun?” Bilbo gestured to the one in his hands.

“Naw, different guns for different people,” Bombur said. “Bifur and I have the same gun. It was the gun he used as a police officer and he gave me one just in case.”

“It’s nice,” Bilbo offered, setting it back on the bed.

“You should see Thorin’s gun,” Bofur crowed, sauntering back into the room with a bag of takeout. He tossed it onto the table and pulled out boxes of Chinese food. “His gun is a little hand-cannon. It’s that new Desert Eagle with the biggest rounds he could get. I’d hate to be on the receiving end of that gun.”

“What about yours?” Bilbo asked, taking the box proffered to him.

“I’ve got the Bond Gun,” Bofur chuckled. “Walther PPK. It’s small, easily hidden, and very sexy.”

“Just your type then?” Bombur smirked. Bifur signed to him. “Bifur believes you can tell a lot about a person based on the gun they carry. Balin and Dwalin both carry a Beretta M9. It’s the standard issue sidearm for the US Army which tells us…”

He left the sentence hanging, waiting for Bilbo to answer.

“They were in the military?” Bilbo guessed through a mouthful of food.

“Bingo!” Bombur said while Bifur nodded enthusiastically, signing faster. “Dori and Oin both have a Glock, though different models. Both are nondescript and reliable.”

“Because they have to be… respectable?” Bilbo guessed.

“More or less,” Bofur shrugged. “It’s a good gun, one you can carry without looking too suspicious.”

“Not like Gloin’s,” Bombur said for Bifur. “His Taurus PT92 not nearly in the same league as the Desert Eagle, but it has a sleek design. It a gun that’s a personal statement as much as a weapon.”

“Why is that?”

“We all got our start somewhere,” Bofur lounged on the bed, food on his chest. “Gloin got his start in the states. He grew up in Austria, you know. Moved back to California with Oin and got in with some bad people. That’s where he learned how to make explosives. Bad people don’t let men like Gloin go free, so needed a gun that told people to back off.”

“Does Nori have a gun like that?” Bilbo asked.

The three exchanged a glance and burst into laughter. Bilbo huffed, tired of being the odd man out. He was part of the team; he deserved to know! He stuffed his mouth full of food in protest. See if they keep him out of the loop when he’s choking on chow mein.

“Nori’s gun was a present,” Bombur said, still chortling.

“From who?” Bilbo couldn’t help but ask.

“Who do you think?”

Bilbo turned to see Bofur with a grin as bright as the sun. Bilbo raised an eyebrow. Who gives a gun as a present? Though, considering what these men did, Bilbo supposed it only made sense. They didn’t have much use for trinkets when on the run from the law or various other criminals

“He saved my life, it was the least I could do,” Bofur shrugged. “I bought him a Colt M1911. It’s a good, classic gun.”

“What about the boys?” Bilbo asked, his curiosity stronger than his bruised ego. “Fili and Kili?”

“I know that Dwalin had a few guns he was going to give them when they turned 21,” Bofur mused. “Don’t know what type. Bet they have them now.”

“And Ori?”

“The day Dori lets Ori have a gun is the day the sun stops shining,” Bombur said. “I’ve never seen a brother act like a mother hen as much as Dori.”

Bifur signed something and Bombur and Bofur laughed. Bilbo, feeling left out again, muttered something about buying a drink and left the family to their jokes. He walked to where the vending machines were supposed to be, but he wasn’t paying attention. His mind was elsewhere, thinking about guns and bullets and blood and death.

What had he gotten himself into? He never should have flown to New York. It was too late for him to go back now. He was part of the crew, whether he wanted to be here or not.

So deep in his thoughts, Bilbo didn’t realize someone was in front of him until they had collided. Ice spilled over the hallway and Bilbo flushed, an apology on his lips.

“I hope you are more stealthy when we make it to Las Vegas.”

The fates were clearly not in his favor. Of all the people he had to run into, Bilbo Baggins ran smack into Thorin Oakenshield. The man was wearing a thin black shirt and plaid pajama pants, yet still managed to look more regal than any prince of England.

“If we’re not getting shot at, I might be,” Bilbo responded.

“Didn’t Bifur teach you how to handle a weapon?” Thorin frowned.

“Of course he did,” Bilbo waved it off. “Knowing how to handle a bloody gun is a lot different than shooting it, I must say.”

“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” Thorin said. “Taking the life of another… it changes who you are. I do not wish for that to befall you.”

“I–” Bilbo was stunned. “Thank you. I suppose.”

Thorin nodded, taking his half-empty ice bucket and walking back to his room. Bilbo stood in the hallway, not moving. Thorin didn’t plan for guns to be involved. He had hoped that there wouldn’t be violence on the heist, that Bilbo himself would be spared having to kill someone.

No, no, that’s not right. Bilbo shook his head. Thorin was just concerned about his nephews, that had to be it. There was no way that Thorin was worried about Bilbo. That settled in his mind, Bilbo bought himself a soda and went back to his room.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To whoever is reading this: Thanks! I've been sitting on this for years (literally) and I'm glad to share it with whoever remains in this fandom :)
> 
> I've been updating it every Monday, but it's a long fic, so I'm going to update it Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays - so long as I don't forget.
> 
> The plan is to go through the entire trilogy, so if you're with me, it's gonna be a long way to go.
> 
> Thanks again!

Oin wasn’t going to ask where the three cars came from. Thorin had the money to buy three cars on a whim, but with Azog Decker on their trail, the less they leave behind the better. Oin still hadn’t worked out if stealing the cars would be as inconspicuous as Nori kept telling him it would be.

They needed the new cars and they needed the keys with them. Nori outfitted them with new license plates through the night while Ori and Dori rigged up a radio system between the cars.

Two days after they ran from New York, the crew was on their way west. The white van had enough room in the back for all the bags and weapons they would need on the heist. The little Ford was quick and subtle enough to scout out whatever city they might end up in. The new jeep was tough and could take a beating. Not the greatest cars, but good enough.

As soon as they hit the highway, Oin was in the back of the van, finding his bag among the mess and taking stock of all the supplies he brought. Painkillers, rubbing alcohol, cotton balls, bandages, gauze wrap, ice packs, needle and thread, tweezers, ointment, gloves, scissors, and a thermometer. Not much if they were going to be shot at, but Oin didn’t have much option there. He’d done more with less.

Thorin was adamant that they move as quickly and far as possible. Ori, his laptop open, was directing Bombur where to go. Occasionally, he spoke through the radio, making sure Balin and Nori were following. Oin spent the drive talking with Dori. They had worked together before and Oin considered him a friend.

They drove for six hours, stopping once to refuel and quickly eat lunch. More than once, Thorin had to take the radio and scold his nephews for bothering poor Bilbo. They stopped for the day in a small town in Ohio. Thorin went to the hotel to book their rooms and Oin took the moment to stretch his legs. He laughed at Bilbo stormed out of the jeep, demanding a change of cars. Fili and Kili were hanging out the windows, laughing it up.

They were moving again as soon as morning hit. At Bilbo’s request, Fili and Kili moved into the van pushing Oin and Dori out into the Ford and Bofur into the jeep. Ori said it was another long drive, five hours to Springfield, Illinois. Thorin planned to stay there for a few days, giving them time to rethink the heist and gather some supplies.

It was easy, then, in an Illinois summer, to forget the danger they were in. Fili and Kili dragged Bilbo to the pool as often as they could. Bofur and Nori went out at night to do a bit of pick pocketing. Even Dwalin seemed to relax and take a breather.

Two days into their stay in Springfield, Oin was shopping with Fili and Kili. Thorin didn’t trust them on their own. They were young, brave, and thought they were invincible. Oin remembered when he felt such confidence, when he and his own brother thought the world was their oyster.

“Do you think that Azog guy is going to come after us again?” Kili asked.

“I’d be surprised if he didn’t,” Oin said.

“Do you know who he is?” Fili asked.

“Aye.”

“So who is he?” they asked in unison.

“Azog is a serial killer turned hitman,” Oin shrugged, picking up a box of pills.

“What?!” the boys spluttered, looking at Oin with shock in their eyes.

“You heard me,” Oin chuckled, enjoying the look of terror on their faces. “Azog Decker was a serial killer. He never got convicted though.”

“Uncle said Azog was an assassin,” Kili whispered.

“He was until your uncle got better,” Oin dragged the boys down the aisle. “Azog was still an assassin, a hitman, but he started killing more for… revenge instead of money.”

“And he wasn’t convicted?” Fili demanded.

“It’s hard to get convicted when Saul Fischer buys your safety,” Oin said.

He stopped. Everything hit him at once. Saul Fischer bribed all the judges to let Azog go free when he was on trial for the eight murders he committed. Azog Decker went underground, though he was seen in Vegas frequently. When Azog came back into the spotlight, it was as a hitman. He killed any competition against the Firedrake Casino. Saul rose to power as his competitors all wound up dead.

How could they have missed something as vital as that connection?

Dropping his basket, Oin grabbed Fili and Kili and ran out of the store. He didn’t stop running until they were at the hotel. The boys were confused, naturally, and kept asking Oin what the problem was. Oin didn’t stop for breath until he was standing in front of Thorin’s door.

If Oin was right then they were in a hell of a lot more trouble than they thought.

As soon as Thorin opened the door, Oin pushed himself inside. Dwalin and Balin were there with Ori, maps and weapons spread out over the beds.

“I figured it out,” Oin said. “I know how Azog found us.”

He paused, trying to wrap his tongue around the best way to deliver the news.

“Don’t spare the details!” Dwalin snapped.

“It was Saul Fischer,” Oin said. “When Azog was on trial for the murders of eight people, Saul bought the judge and jury to ensure Azog’s freedom.”

“You don’t think…” Balin stood up slowly.

“It makes sense,” Thorin said. “It would explain how Azog found us so quickly in New York and, let’s be honest, he doesn’t really care for me. But if it’s true then we need to deep underground. Dwalin, talk to Bofur, figure out how he hides. Balin, Ori, spread the news, we leave tonight.”

“Is no one going to explain what’s the big deal here?” Kili demanded.

Oin sighed. These poor boys really have no idea what’s happening. Dwalin, Balin, and Ori left the room quickly, doing what Thorin asked.

“Azog is working for Saul,” Oin deadpanned. “He bought Azog’s freedom and is using him as a personal hitman. It’s the only way to explain why Azog could find us so quickly. The problem is that since Azog is working for Saul, the Firedrake knows we’re coming for him. He knows what we’re up to now. It’s all gone to hell in a hand basket.”

“But he’s not here,” Kili reasoned. “Azog isn’t here in Illinois. Why do we have to run?”

“Do you really believe that we aren’t being hunted?” Thorin turned to his nephew, fire blazing in his blue eyes. “Saul Fischer can find us wherever we go. He can send Azog anywhere in the country in a matter of moments. They can track everything we do if we give them the chance. Azog isn’t here yet, but he will be.”

The boys trembled under the glare of their uncle. Meekly, they nodded their heads and Oin ushered them from the room, leaving their leader to mull things over.

“He doesn’t have to be so mean about it,” Kili mumbled as they walked to their rooms.

“If he’s not mean about it then you’ll never learn,” Oin said. “He’s trying to keep you two safe.”

“Can’t he keep us safe and be nice to us?” Fili muttered.

“He’s worried and when people are worried their temper grows short.”

“Just like Mom,” Kili cracked a smile.

“Exactly like your mother,” Oin nodded. “Now pack up. We’re leaving tonight and I have a feeling this might be the last hotel we stay at.”

Bofur was panicking. Years of experience, however, helped him hide his fear. If he was panicked then Dwalin would be panicked. If Dwalin was panicked, then the whole operation would be finished before it started. Bofur carefully took his fear and worry and hid it underneath calm detachment.

How was Bofur supposed to react, when Dwalin came in, saying the whole team needed to go underground as quickly as possible? This wasn’t something that could be done on a whim at anyone’s passing fancy. It took time and effort to go into hiding as deeply as Bofur could.

“You need to have a very good reason for asking me this,” Bofur deadpanned. “And I mean a _very_ good reason. It takes more than Azog Decker to scare me.”

“He’s working for Saul Fischer,” Dwalin said.

Bofur’s hands froze from where he was cleaning his gun. Oh. That was a _very_ good reason to go into hiding. Azog Decker was evil on his own, but working for the most commanding tyrant in all of Las Vegas meant Azog would have access to everything his blackened heart desired. He could be anywhere in America in an instant, have the best weapons and vehicles money could buy, in short, they needed to hide far, far, away.

“Okay, you’ve convinced me,” Bofur nodded. “Get everyone to the van, bring all their stuff. I’ll meet you there.”

Nori sidled up next to Bofur, shoulders brushing, as Dwalin ran out. Bofur sighed and leaned slightly against his friend.

“We’re in so much trouble,” Bofur said. “I don’t even know if I can hide all of us. Fourteen people, going underground, it’s no easy feat.”

“Good thing we have you then,” Nori nudged Bofur. “The best man for the job.”

Bofur smiled wanly and they packed up their things. At the van, everyone was waiting there. Most of them looked worried, anticipation creasing their foreheads. Bilbo looked politely confused even though he shook with fear. With Nori as a comforting presence at his side, Bofur took command.

The first thing that needed to go were the cell phones. With power like Saul’s and cunning like Azog’s, there was no doubt that their cell phones were being tracked. Bofur gathered them all in a bag and threw them into a dumpster.

Next were the license plates. If they were lucky, Azog didn’t know their plates, but Bofur didn’t become invisible by being lucky. He sent out Dwalin, Gloin, and Nori to get some new ones. Nori gave his arm a squeeze of encouragement before leaving and Bofur nodded his thanks.

Then came the hardest part, leaving no traces behind. This meant Thorin had to stop funding the heist. No more hotels, no more restaurants, no more credit cards.

“What are we supposed to do then?” Bilbo asked.

“If we’re lucky, we’ll find a few houses to squat in along the way,” Bofur said. “Maybe pool all our cash to stay at a cheap motel once in a while. We’ll be eating in fast food, something quick and easy. Gas stations are good too.”

“How long will we be living like this?” Thorin asked.

“Until we hit Las Vegas,” Bofur said. “We _cannot_ risk getting seen or being followed. From now on, Ori will tell us the directions before we leave. We can’t keep going in a motorcade like we’ve been. It’s too noticeable. We should also head north. It’s the opposite of where Azog and Saul expect us to go. It’s not much, but it might be enough to shake them off our tails. Long enough for us to rethink.”

They all nodded and Ori opened his laptop. Bofur took a deep breath. They could do this. Things were looking up, so long as they got out of Illinois. Dwalin, Nori, and Gloin trotted up, six plates in hand. They changed up the license plates and Bofur gave his final piece of advice.

“We should be prepared for the worst,” Bofur said, dragging his eyes over the team. “This isn’t a guarantee that Azog and Saul can’t find us. We need to be ready for a fight.”

Fili and Kili brightened instantly at that. Thorin glared at them and they wilted. When Thorin turned away, the brothers shared a smirk. Bifur’s eyes absolutely gleamed at the idea and his fingers twitched to the gun on his hip. Bofur shook his head slightly and chuckled. His cousin never could resist the idea of a firefight.

“This calls for bigger guns,” Dwalin grinned.

“Don’t be so rash,” Balin tugged his brother. “If we do this right then we don’t need to bring out the big guns.”

Dwalin pouted.

“I have it!” Ori said, gesturing at Bofur. “Centerville, Iowa. Six hours northwest from here. It’s small so no one will suspect us going there, I’m almost certain.”

“Perfect,” Bofur nodded. “Write the directions down for Nori, and Balin.”

Ori was already scribbling on paper, Dori doing the same beside him.

“The jeep will go first,” Bofur took the directions from Ori and handed it to Balin. “Drive normally, be casual about it. Once in the city, find the first gas station off the highway and wait in the parking lot. Do not get out of the car. The Ford will go next, same rules. Bombur,” Bofur turned to his younger brother, “you will leave last. I hate doing this to you, but your car is the most noticeable. Chances are that you’ll be the one hit first if we’re caught.”

“What do you need me to do?” Bombur asked, not a sliver of fear in his voice.

“Drive carefully, drive safe,” Bofur said. “I’ll see you in Centerville.”

Bofur then pulled Bombur in for a hug. He would never show this much emotion on a job, always trying to put up the important front, the professional appearance, but this was his brother; Bofur deserved this moment. He needed to hold his brother tight and remember that Bombur has a wife and eight kids waiting in Paris. He needed to remember the way Bombur’s curly hair felt when it tickled his ear.

Too soon, yet not soon enough, Bofur pulled back. He and Bifur nodded to each other. They didn’t have anyone waiting for them. They had nothing waiting for them. They were drifters and floaters, not knowing where to go because they had nowhere to belong. Bombur had something waiting, something to live for, and Bofur and Bifur would do everything they could to make sure Bombur got back home to his family.

“Time to go,” Bofur wiped his eyes.

He slid into the car, taking his place by Nori with Bilbo in the backseat (still refusing to be in a car with Fili and Kili), and followed the jeep out of Springfield.

Two hours in and they lost all sight of the other cars. Bofur tried not to fidget too much, but Nori was his closest friend and noticed. He couldn’t help it. Scenario after scenario filled Bofur’s head the longer they drove. What if Azog found the van? What if there was a firefight going down and Bofur wasn’t there to look after his brother? How long would he wait in Iowa for news that never came? What if the van flipped into a ditch? What if, what if, what if. The questions and speculations and worries chased themselves in Bofur’s head, yet he always saw the same thing. Bombur, eyes blank, with blood on his face or bullets in his chest or mangled limbs. Dead, dead, dead.

He didn’t realize he was shaking until Nori was holding his hand still.

“Stop it,” Nori said. “You’re putting me on edge.”

“Sorry,” Bofur apologized. “He’s just my brother…”

“And you think I don’t understand that feeling?” Nori spared a glance, eyes as hard as crystals. “Ori and Dori are in the van with your brother.”

Guilt washed over Bofur and knotted his stomach. He had forgotten that Nori’s brothers were on this heist too. While Dori could look out for himself, having been on a few heists himself, Ori was naïve and untested. Bofur felt shame heat up his face. He had been so concerned with his brother that he hadn’t been able to offer support to Nori.

“I’m sorry,” Bofur squeezed Nori’s hand.

“I understand,” Nori spared a small smile. “Emotions are running high for all of us on this job.”

Bofur smiled back and turned to see how Bilbo was holding up. Their burglar was spread out on the backseat, head pillowed by his jacket, and fast asleep. Bofur’s smile turned soft as he watched Bilbo breathe. Of all the people on the team, Bilbo was the least prepared for this heist. He didn’t volunteer for this. He didn’t know what he was getting into.

“You like him,” Nori said.

“Yeah,” Bofur turned forward again, watching fields of corn pass by.

Nori made a noise in the back of his throat and his grip on Bofur tightened slightly. Bofur tried to hide a smile, but couldn’t help the smallest quirk of his mouth.

“No need to be jealous,” Bofur said. “You know you’re my one and only.”

“Oh, shut up,” Nori said, but he was smiling again.

“He’s charming,” Bofur said. “Bilbo Baggins of London. He has all the luxurious that we’ve never had. A home to return to. A place to belong.”

“I thought you liked living on the edge.”

“I do!” Bofur protested. “It’s just tiring, you know? There’s only so many places you can see, so many people you can rob blind, before it starts getting old.” Bofur stopped, trying to put the feeling into words. That longing, wistful feeling he had of wanting to belong somewhere. “I want to settle down. I want a house, a home. I want to have bills to pay and insurance on a car I don’t need. I want to go shopping on weekends for groceries and have picnics and belong.”

“Yeah,” Nori mumbled. “I know the feeling.”

“Maybe when this is all over we’ll find somewhere then?” Bofur suggested.

“Maybe,” Nori agreed.

“Somewhere together,” Bofur sighed, leaning back. “A little house in a small neighborhood. And we’ll get a cat.”

“No cat.”

“We’ll see about that.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Cannibals and a gory scene at the end involving butchering people.
> 
> I've been using real cities in this fic but the farmhouse and diner are completely fictional.

Centerville, Iowa was almost nothing. Bilbo, having grown in London and seen New York City, thought Centerville didn’t even earn the name “town”. The team gathered around the first gas station they saw, debating on what to do for dinner. Bofur was adamant that they shouldn’t cross the street to the little diner because they would be too noticeable. Bilbo turned to him, eyes begging Bofur for one last dinner, and Bofur sighed.

In relatively high spirits, the team crossed the street to the diner. It was late but the diner was packed. Bilbo vindictively thought that it was because this diner was the only eating establishment for miles around.

Despite the fact that everything was swimming in grease and the only drink was beer and coke, the diner wasn’t half as bad as it could have been. Bilbo almost enjoyed himself, settled between Bofur and Bombur, jokes flying across the table. Fili and Kili exclaimed that they left something in the car and ran off to get it.

It was when Ori started nodding off between Dwalin and Dori that Thorin called the meal to a halt. They all pulled out their cash to pay for dinner and stumbled out of the diner, some more drunk than others. It was a merry meal, despite the threat of Saul Fischer and Azog Decker looming over them. Bilbo secretly believed that it was for the best.

They sauntered to the cars, laughter still bubbling between them, when Bilbo realized something was wrong.

A certain blonde teenager and his little brother were missing.

Bilbo didn’t know how long they had been gone, being too busy with the other members of the team, but he knew that they were gone for a long time. Something didn’t sit right with Bilbo. Even in a crowded parking lot, he felt like there were eyes watching him. Like someone, or something, was waiting for him. Waiting for the other men to leave so they could strike and take Bilbo.

He shivered and leaned closer to the Bofur, not liking the darkness. Bilbo was used to the city, with streetlights and headlights and buildings lit up like stars. There was nothing out here but inky blackness, waiting to swallow him whole.

“Fili! Kili!” Thorin called for his nephews. So Bilbo hadn’t been the only one to notice the two young boys were missing.

Thorin, growing more frantic with each passing moment, searched the entire lot, desperate to find his missing nephews. The rest of the team, waking from their drunken haze, started looking as well. Bofur asked if anyone had noticed two teenagers with no news. Ori and Nori scouted around the diner. It was Bilbo who found the clue. One of Fili’s silver bracelets in the grass behind the diner.

“This was no accident,” Thorin said, picking up the bracelet. “Fili would have dropped this on purpose.”

“Where do you suppose they are?” Bilbo asked.

“That direction,” Dwalin said, pointing out to the empty field.

“You’re kidding me!” Bilbo exclaimed. “There’s no way we can make it through all of that by tonight!”

Ori and Nori ran up to them, skidding in the dirt, both out of breath.

“There’s a light!” Ori said, gesturing out to the open field. “It looks like a little farmhouse. Nori saw some tracks in the dirt, like two bodies being dragged out there.”

That was enough proof for Thorin and he started moving towards the field, letting Nori lead the group to the farmhouse. They had all pulled their guns out and Bofur kept a comforting arm around Bilbo, winking as they pressed forward.

As they came closer, the light grew brighter and bigger. Nori was right; it was a farmhouse with a dozen cars waiting out front. It was a large house, two stories and a basement, with peeling white paint on the walls. The light was coming from a single window. No sign of life and no sign of Fili or Kili. A shadow passed over the window and the team dropped to their knees. Thorin turned to look at Bilbo; his eyes glinted in the darkness.

“Well, Burglar, go on,” Thorin gestured to the house.

“I beg your pardon!” Bilbo spluttered.

“Go see if my nephews are in the house,” Thorin gave Bilbo a little push. “If you see them, run back and tell us the news. If you run into trouble, whistle three times, then pause for four seconds, and whistle twice more.”

With a great number of hands pushing him along, Bilbo was creeping up to the farmhouse, alone and unarmed. Still, he was the official burglar of the team and this was his chance to prove himself. Now, if only there was a way to prove himself without putting himself in danger.

Bilbo crept up to the house, peering into the window, hoping that no one would see him. The interior of the farmhouse was a dull gray, a thin layer of dust covering everything. He was looking into a den, a moth-eaten sofa against one wall, a rickety fireplace against the other. A wide door led to a grimy kitchen with rusty tools hanging from the ceiling. A man was in the kitchen, cleaver flashing in the light as he brought it down.

A door creaked open and two more men came in, dragging two bodies behind them. Bilbo’s heart lurched. It was Fili and Kili! They were tied up with ropes and thrown onto the floor of the den, unconscious. Bilbo should have done something at that moment, be that running back to Thorin, doing the whistle code that he couldn’t remember, or charge in and save the boys himself. Instead, he stood and debated with himself.

Fili woke up, mumbling and rolling around. When he caught sight of where he was, and his little brother by his side, he started shouting up a storm. Bilbo, still unsure of what to do, stood in the window, watching as Fili swore on everything he held dear that he would kill these men if they touched his brother.

Unfortunately, one of the men, the redhead that looked like a pro-wrestler, turned around and caught sight of Bilbo in the window. Squealing, Bilbo sprinted from the window and ran all the way back to the field where Thorin and company were waiting.

“They’ve got the boys!” Bilbo gasped. “Three men in the farmhouse. Fili and Kili tied up. One of them saw me!”

That last fact, which left Bilbo a quivering bundle of nerves, only excited the others. They pulled out all their guns, exchanging rounds and whispering a plan to take the farmhouse by storm. Bilbo pleaded with them not to, telling them that something that dangerous would only attract attention.

Instead, they decided to see if, perhaps, Dwalin and Bifur alone could rescue Fili and Kili. They sent the two of them, with Bilbo, back to the farmhouse. They had clear instructions; come back with Fili and Kili. If return was impossible, they were to whistle and two more of the team would come forth.

Bilbo didn’t doubt the skill Dwalin and Bifur had, but they had no concept of how to be stealthy. Their footfalls were heavy and they kept clicking the safety on their guns. Still, they managed to creep right up to the front door, and that’s where it all went wrong.

Dwalin and Bifur, guns drawn, reached the door. Bifur nodded and Dwalin braced himself to kick the door open. Before his foot even left the ground, the door flung open and two men jumped out, a thick rope between them. Bilbo, thinking quickly, dodged out of the way and ran inside, jumping into the first closet he found. Peering through a crack, he saw Bifur and Dwalin, tied tightly together, dragged into the den and tossed next to Fili and Kili.

“There’ll be more, ‘m sure,” the man from the kitchen came out, holding a bloody cleaver in one hand. He was tall, wide, and bald, wearing an apron splattered with blood. He knelt down beside Kili and grinned. “Aren’ there, boy?”

“Don’t you dare touch him!” Fili shouted, struggling against the ropes around his arms. “I will kill you if you lay a _finger_ on him!”

“Oh ho, possessive, aren’ we?” the bald man chuckled. “Don’ worry, boy. I won’ touch yer brother as long as ‘e tells me wha’ I wanna ‘ear.”

Bilbo, frozen in the closet, could only watch in horror as Kili shook his head violently. The bald man lifted his cleaver up, the blade touching Kili’s neck. Fili froze.

“Tell me now, little one,” the bald man growled. “’Ow many more are ya?”

“None! I swear!” Kili said, leaning away from the blade.

“He’s lyin’,” another man said, this one wiry with dirt brown hair. “Hurt ‘im, Bert. Make ‘im squeal!”

“NO!” Fili screamed, struggling harder against the ropes.

Bert, the man with the cleaver, chuckled and pressed the blade into Kili’s neck, just enough for a trickle of blood to show. Kili turned to Fili with wide eyes and Fili put on a brave face, whispering to his brother.

Bilbo, in a moment of courageous stupidity, jumped from the closet. It didn’t matter to him that he was a pudgy man from London with no weapons. It hardly mattered that he was facing three very strong men who were armed with knives and guns. He only knew that he couldn’t let Kili get hurt. Thorin would kill him.

“I believe you’re looking for me!” Bilbo announced as seven pairs of eyes locked onto him.

“’E’s tha’ fella in the winder!” the redhead who spotted him earlier said. “Ya went and got these two, didn’ ya?” he gestured to Dwalin and Bifur. “You tell us ‘ow many more of you there are!”

“None,” Bilbo said, keeping his face straight.

The three men looked like they didn’t quite believe him, but Bilbo kept his face as impassive as he could. Bert took his cleaver away from Kili and put it on Bilbo’s chest.

“You better not be lyin’,” Bert growled.

Bilbo was going to protest that he was a very honest man and of _course_ he was telling the truth, but instead the front door burst open and the rest of the team charged in. Bilbo groaned to himself.

The team fought well, aiming a few shots at the three men, but it was soon a mess of bodies and shouts. One by one, the men caught the team, tied them up, and threw them onto the ground. Bilbo made a dash for the door in the confusion, only for Bert to pull him back by the ankle and put the cleaver to his throat. Thorin and Balin, the only two who hadn’t been captured yet, dropped their guns and let the men tie them up. Bilbo too was tied and thrown into the pile. They were completely at the mercy of these three men.

“Tom!” Bert shouted to the wiry man. “Get the pot.”

Tom grinned widely, showing several missing teeth, and ran out the back door. The team of fourteen, who had been struggling against the ropes, stopped at those words. They all exchanged worried looks and something cold slipped down Bilbo’s spine.

“A-are you going to _eat _us?” he couldn’t help but ask Bert.

“Not all of ya at once!” Bert chortled. “Only the biggest tonight. The rest of ya we’ll hafta keep in the freezer. Ya’ll be enough ta keep us goin’ ’til winter!”

Tom came back into the house then, dragging a huge cast-iron pot.

“Oi! Bill! Help me out, would ya?” Tom shouted.

The redhead bumbled over and tugged the pot into the kitchen with ease. He and Tom filled it up with water while Bert mused about the seasoning.

“We’ll make stew tonight,” he said, heavy cleaver working on vegetables. “Better than tha’ farmer from last nigh’. No meat on ‘im.”

“Aw, not stew,” Tom moaned. “Ya know I ‘ate your stew. Not enough sage in it.”

“I’m the cook!” Bert snapped. “You keep yer mouth shut!”

“We should jus’ squash ‘em,” Bill put in. “Take ‘em downstairs and crush ‘em ‘til they turn to jelly.”

“Oh, tha’ sounds nice!” Tom agreed heartily.

“It doesn’ matter how we cook ‘em,” Bert growled at the two, waving his cleaver around. “We need ‘em diced up and hidden away before dawn. Don’ wan’ the cops ta hear ‘em screamin’.”

Bilbo’s ears pricked up at that. What happened when dawn came along? Did the police scour this area every morning to find missing persons? If Bilbo could just keep these men distracted until dawn, they might have a chance of survival.

“Wait a moment!” Bilbo shouted, standing up to his feet, arms still tied behind his back. “You are going about this all wrong!”

Bert, Tom and Bill turned around, looking at Bilbo curiously.

“Oh, shut up!” Dori groaned from the floor. “You can’t reason with them!”

“I’m talking about the cooking bit,” Bilbo shuffled away from the others.

“What about the cookin’ bit?” Bert asked, taking half a step towards Bilbo.

“Have you seen these men?” Bilbo leaned in conspiratorially. “These are strong men with thick muscles. Not tender at all.”

“What d’ya suggest we do?” Bert asked, taking another half step closer.

“Sautee them!” Bilbo hopped away from Fili, who looked ready to bite his ankles. “Over a nice low heat with plenty of seasoning.”

Bert’s eyes gleamed.

“Tha’s a load of crap!” Bill said from the pot. “I’ve ‘ad plenty of strong men before! Nothing wrong with a bit of tough meat.”

“Yeah!” Tom agreed, reaching for a knife and stalking towards the group. He picked up Bombur by his curly hair and pressed the knife to his throat.

“Not that one!” Bilbo screeched. “He’s infected!”

Tom’s jaw dropped and he threw Bombur back into the den. Bill stopped what he was doing by the pot and Bert almost dropped his cleaver.

“In fact they’ve all got them!” Bilbo continued. “They’re absolutely _riddled_ with parasites. It’s a horrible, nasty business. I really would not risk it if I were you.”

“PARASITES?!” Kili shouted from his spot by Fili. “We don’t have parasites! _You_ have parasites!”

“Don’t mind him,” Bilbo said smoothly. “He hasn’t quite accepted the truth yet.”

“What d’ya suggest we do?” Bert towered over Bilbo. “Let ‘em all go?”

“Well,” Bilbo shrugged.

“This little _limey_ is having us for fools!” Bert lifted his cleaver. “’E’ll go first!”

“He wouldn’ make more than a mouthful,” Bill said. “Not when ‘e’s skinned and boned.”

“Whichever one screams the most will be next,” Bert said, swinging the cleaver down at Bilbo’s throat.

Bilbo never figured out who screamed the loudest when he nearly died, for at that moment a long rattle of gunfire echoed in the house as buttery sunshine streamed through the windows. Bilbo fell onto the ground, gasping for breath, his heart pounding hard enough to break through his chest.

Gandalf Gray stood in the doorway, a rifle on his hip and spraying the three men down with bullets. In a few seconds, the men were on the ground, peppered with bullet holes and blood covering the floor. Gandalf sighed, as if he gunned down men all the time. Though, Bilbo thought, Gandalf probably did. All at once, the team started cheering. Gandalf pulled out a knife and cut the ropes off the team, setting his rifle on the ground.

“Where the hell have you been?” Thorin demanded as soon as he was free.

“I was looking ahead,” Gandalf said simply.

“Then what brought you back?”

“Looking behind,” Gandalf winked.

Thorin threw his hands in the air and turned to help free his nephews. Nori, Bofur, and Gloin, however, turned to exploring. Bilbo followed them, having nothing better to do. They found a hidden staircase and, with much trepidation, descended into the basement. Thorin and Gandalf joined them soon, the rest of the team scavenging the upstairs for anything useful.

The basement stank of rotting flesh and the single light that Gloin turned on flickered and buzzed. All over the walls were meat hooks, various knives, guns of all shapes and sizes, and a table. All of them covered with blood; some of it still red and dripping. Bloody bathroom curtains hung around the room, partitioning it into four areas. Plastic bags were piled into a corner and Bilbo moved to look into one.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Thorin pulled him back.

Bilbo yanked his arm free and looked into the bag, just to spite Thorin. He then promptly turned around and vomited on the floor.

“I warned you,” Thorin rolled his eyes.

Bilbo glared at him, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. How was he supposed to know that cannibals put all the undesirable guts and things into trash bags? Was Bilbo supposed to know that inside that plastic bag were intestines and eyeballs, slimy and crawling with flies? Bilbo stood up straighter, the smell still sickening and his limbs shaking. To prove himself, he turned and yanked open one of the plastic curtains.

He let out a shriek and fell backwards. Hanging upside down was a woman. She was naked and deathly white. Her neck was cut open and crusted with blood. A bucket was beneath her, nearly filled and congealing in thick clots. Bilbo stood up and shut the curtain quickly, hands shaking.

“Makes sense,” Nori said, though he too looked sick to his stomach. “You always bleed out an animal before you butcher them.”

Bilbo retched, his stomach protesting violently against him. He leaned against the table, taking deep breaths through his nose. He once went to a butcher in London. He’d seen the racks of beef and pork and watched as the man behind the counter took a cleaver and cut off the parts he wanted. He once watched a video of how to properly kill and butcher a chicken on a bet.

“Hey, you okay?” Bofur put a hand on his shoulder. “If you don’t feel good you can go.”

“No,” Bilbo shook his head. “I’m fine. I got ten quid on that bet.”

“What bet?” Bofur asked.

“Chickens!” Bilbo said. “Don’t you know about chickens?”

“I think our burglar needs some fresh air,” Thorin said. “Bofur, take him out.”

“No, I can do this!” Bilbo protested as Bofur put an arm around his shoulder.

Gloin opened another curtain to reveal dozens of severed limbs hanging in a row and Bilbo promptly fainted.


	10. Chapter 10

Thorin sighed as Bofur carried the unconscious Bilbo upstairs. He turned to the weapons on the wall and ran a finger over the guns. They were good weapons; hunting rifles, shotguns, heavy handguns. Dwalin dropped down the stairs.

“Take these guns,” Thorin pointed to the wall.

“Ori says we need to move on,” Dwalin said, pulling the guns from the wall. “The police scan this area every morning. Apparently, most missing persons are found on this plot of land. I think they’re hoping one day they’ll find proof these three men are kidnappers.”

Thorin nodded. He shouted at Nori and Gloin (who were looking at a jar of teeth with immense curiosity) and ran up the stairs. In the den, Bilbo was just waking. Bofur was by Bilbo, dabbing his forehead with a damp cloth. Fili, who was keeping an eye out the door, gave a shout. In the distance were three police cars, lights flashing and sirens wailing.

“Run,” Gandalf said. “Go back to your cars and go to Omaha. It’s a few hours away and out of Iowa. Once there, find a small shop called The Dell, it’s on Riven Street. Now go!”

“What about you?” Kili asked, tugging his brother away from the window.

“I’ll run interference. Go!”

Ori pulled out his faithful tablet as they ran through the field back to the diner. Thorin ran to the van, pulling the door open and ushering everyone inside. It would be a tight fit, but they didn’t have time to get the other two cars.

At the very least it would throw Azog off their trail.

“Will there ever be a moment’s peace?” Bilbo asked, sitting in a corner with a pout on his face as Balin drove them away.

“Did you expect one?” Thorin asked.

“Not really,” Bilbo admitted. “How far is Omaha exactly?”

“About two hours,” Ori answered from the front.

“Do you know who Gandalf was talking about?” Bilbo asked.

“Not a clue,” Thorin shook his head.

“And we’re going to trust him?”

“We don’t have much choice here,” Thorin snapped.

Bilbo crossed his arms. Bofur, who was squashed next to him, gave a comforting nudge. Thorin shook his head and turned to Dwalin. They rummaged through the bag of weapons, Bifur offering help. Most of it was hunting weapons; shotguns with buckshot, bolt-action rifles, heavy pistols and revolvers.

Thorin noticed Bilbo watching every move. His eyes were trained on each weapon Dwalin pulled out. Thorin reached in and pulled out a revolver. It was black and relatively clean. He handed it over to Dwalin and noticed Bilbo eyeing the gun with hungry eyes.

“What kind is that?” Thorin asked.

“Hell if I know,” Dwalin handed it to Bifur.

Bifur turned it over and shrugged as well, passing it to Balin.

“That’s a Ruger Blackhawk,” Gloin said. “It’s a hunting gun. Powerful, easy to use, not bad for a first timer.” He winked at Bilbo.

“Give it to him,” Thorin said. “He’s going to need it, considering the way things are going. He’ll need a weapon. When we’re in Omaha, Bifur will teach you how to shoot.”

“What about Dwalin?” Bilbo asked quickly, taking the proffered gun.

“Ori and the boys need training too,” Bofur said. “Besides, Bifur is better than Dwalin at teaching newbies.”

“And Dwalin will probably shoot you if you mess up,” Kili offered.

“That was one time,” Dwalin countered. “And you deserved it!”

The conversation dissolved into the boys arguing with Dwalin about whether or not Kili really deserved to get shot at (which he did but Thorin kept his mouth shut). They drove to Omaha in comfortable conversation.

The Dell was a tiny shop on the corner of Riven Street and Misty Road. Thorin’s first impression was that he didn’t like it. There were beads in the window and incense burning at the displays. A small chalkboard outside promoted “Fresh Herbal Tea” that would “Clear the Mind” and “Heighten the Senses.” Thorin groaned at the sight. Whomever Gandalf knew here couldn’t possibly be friendly or helpful.

Still, this was the place they were told to go, so here they would be. Bilbo looked at it with a cool indifference, but his eyes were gleaming. Probably because of the tea. They stepped into the shop, a little bell tinkling, and Bilbo made for the corner that had boxes of tea stacked up. Thorin smirked. Definitely the tea.

“Hello,” a low voice welcomed them.

Turning around, Thorin saw a tall, thin man walk towards them. He had long black hair and wore robes of deep purple. He smiled at them and Thorin was instantly on alert. This hardly looked like a man who would be within Gandalf’s inner circles. Gandalf Gray was a man of action, a man of thievery and murder. This man looked like he belonged in the sixties on his way to Haight-Ashbury.

“Hello,” Thorin replied, remembering his manners.

“How can I be of service?” the man asked.

He wore a nametag. Elrond, it read, in bold, looping letters.

“Well, Elrond,” Thorin said with as much condescension and nobility in his voice. “We were sent here by Gandalf Gray.”

Elrond’s eyes narrowed.

“I see,” he said. “You better follow me then.”

With a sweep of his robes, Elrond led them through a backdoor. Dwalin and Thorin shared a wary glance and followed. Bilbo stumbled along after them, his eyes wide in wonderment at the displays.

The backdoor opened to a wide room with a set of stairs in the back. Thorin and his crew followed Elrond down the flight of stairs and through a set of double doors. Beyond the doors was an open room, with plush sofas, soft lights, and an open kitchen.

“This is The Dell,” Elrond said. “It’s a place of relaxation for thieves such as yourselves. If Gandalf sent you here, then I can only assume you are in the worst of trouble.”

“You could say that,” Bilbo muttered.

“Until Gandalf arrives, please make yourselves comfortable,” Elrond gestured to the room. “Down the hall to the left are bedrooms and bathrooms. I believe you’ll find everything you need there. I’ll be upstairs if you ever need me.”

As soon as the door shut behind Elrond, Bombur made a beeline for the kitchen. No one else complained as he started cooking a massive meal with Bofur at his side. Thorin called Balin to him while the rest of his crew sprawled out on the sofas.

“Do you think he’ll come?” Thorin asked.

“Gandalf always comes,” Balin said.

“And do you trust Elrond?”

“He’s part of the Council.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Then no,” Balin shook his head. “I don’t trust Elrond. He and Galadriel are the ones who decided the Council of White should take down bad men with peace. Elrond believes that there is always a peaceful solution and I have no doubt he’ll look down on our heist.”

With that in his mind, Thorin sat down on one of the plush sofas. For now, it didn’t matter if Elrond would approve of their heist or not. He had offered them a place to stay for a while, a place to finally lay low and catch their breaths.

Gandalf didn’t arrive for three days. Elrond rarely came down to visit them, other than to resupply the kitchen. Bifur took Bilbo out once, drove to an abandoned field and practiced shooting. Bilbo was different from that day. He carried himself differently, as if knowing how to properly shoot a gun changed the way he saw himself in regards to the rest of the team. Bofur, Nori, Fili and Kili spent most of the time watching action movies and arguing over Jackie Chan and Chuck Norris. Dori, who had finally worried himself to illness, had been quarantined to his room, Oin looking over him.

Thorin, on the other hand, sat with Balin and Dwalin and talked about what to do with the heist. They had always hoped to have an element of surprise. They planned around the fact that Saul Fischer had no idea they were coming. They also planned that Azog Decker wouldn’t be a problem. Everything they had hoped to have as solid ground went up in smoke. They were lost; they were hunted; and they still needed to perform the heist.

It wasn’t exactly a recipe for success.

It was day three, Ori sitting beside Thorin, pointing out the road they would take to Las Vegas, when the door flung open and Gandalf Gray stood in the frame. He was in a white suit, plum shirt, and wearing a fedora of all things. Thorin had no idea how he managed to walk in public with no shame dressed like that. Everyone froze at the sight. Fili and Kili stopped wrestling on the floor. Nori stopped mid-laugh at something Dwalin had said.

“My, my, my, what a predicament you’ve found yourselves in,” Gandalf smiled, stepping in. “Mr. Fischer knows you are here to steal his money, The Defiler is on your tail and you’ve just narrowly escaped being eaten by cannibals.”

“Thank you for summing that up nicely,” Thorin stopped him. “Do you have a plan, then?”

“You really should take advantage of where you are,” Gandalf sat down gracefully.

“Gandalf tells me you plan to steal from Saul Fischer,” Elrond’s lilting voice danced over the room. He stepped in through the door and stood by it. His robes were midnight blue today.

Thorin rolled his eyes. “What of it?”

“There are those who would not deem it wise,” Elrond said sagely.

“This isn’t about wisdom,” Thorin stood up. “This is about revenge. This is about honor. This is about taking back what is rightfully mine.”

“And how do you plan to enter the casino?” Elrond asked evenly. “If what Gandalf tells me is true and Saul knows of your intent to rob him blind, he will have every entrance guarded against your face.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” Thorin said, taking a few threatening steps closer to Elrond.

“I happen to know a way for you to get inside,” Elrond said, either unbothered by the murder in Thorin’s eyes, or unnoticing. “I don’t think you’ll like it very much, but it’ll get you into the Casino without Saul noticing.”

Elrond swept past Thorin and sat down at one of the tables, pressing his fingers to his lips. Thorin, standing by the door, spun on his heel and folded his arms. A map of the casino, which was found and printed by Ori, was on the table. Points of interest circled in green, areas of danger blocked out in red. Thorin and Balin had been pouring over that paper for the past three days.

“There’s a door, right here,” Elrond pointed to a spot on the map. “I know it looks like ordinary wall, but there is a loose brick, marked with Saul’s insignia. You press it and you’ll be in the casino.”

“That’s the back hallway,” Balin said, bending over the map. “It should lead us right to the safe.”

“It will,” Elrond nodded. “One of my boys found it. Said it was a long, white hallway. One end is the exit, the other end leads to the casino. He said there were five doors, all unmarked and unremarkable. Behind each was a safe, the best safe AMSEC has ever made.”

“This is perfect,” Thorin exclaimed, rushing forward. “If we can get to this secret door, find out which safe has the money in it, we could pull this off.”

Elrond gave a long-suffering sigh and rested his head in his hands. Thorin felt a prickle of annoyance rush through him. This had to be it. This was the grand speech that the heist was needlessly dangerous and there are so many other, peaceful, ways to accomplish the task at hand.

“You cannot stay here much longer,” Elrond said, surprising Thorin. “The instant Saul knows that you’ve come to see me, he’ll know that you know about his little secret door. I can, however, guarantee that Saul will not know that you paid me a visit for at least a week. That gives you roughly ten days before Saul starts taking precautions. You should probably leave tomorrow, as soon as you’re able. I have a new van for you, as well. It’s white, and should fit all of you more comfortably and has new plates. You can probably make it to Utah before Azog catches up with you.”

“I, unfortunately, will not be coming with you,” Gandalf said. “I know I haven’t been around much, but the Council has other more important matters to deal with. I’ll meet you in Denver in three days, understand? Wait for me there.”

Thorin nodded. Gandalf and Elrond left, slamming the door behind them.

“Do we have to go?” Bilbo’s voice rose up first. “It’s so nice here.”

Thorin shot Bilbo a withering look. How dare he suggest they stay here when his money, his fortune, was waiting for him? They had a way into the casino, a secret entrance and a ten-day head start on Saul Fischer, and Bilbo was suggesting they stay hidden in Omaha in the basement of a hippie?

“Sorry,” Bilbo muttered, looking down. “I suppose you plan to leave at first light again? Before anyone could possibly be awake?”

“That’s exactly what I had in mind,” Thorin said.

He decided to ignore the groans from the rest of the team.


	11. Chapter 11

Azog Decker paced in his Las Vegas home, a glass of whiskey in his hand. It had been ten days since the fiasco in New York and he was livid. Never had a kill gotten away from Azog. He always got his mark. _Always_. It’s what separated him from the others. Azog never messed up. He always got his kill. He downed the alcohol and slammed the glass on the kitchen table.

Then again, Azog couldn’t be too hard on himself. He was hunting Thorin Oakenshield. The man was not to be underestimated. Yet Azog had done just that. Azog had let his emotions rule over his hit. Instead of going in quietly and doing the job right, he had wanted revenge and went in hot and let Thorin slip through his fingers.

A mistake he wouldn’t be making again.

Which is why he was sitting cozily in Las Vegas while his team was hunting Thorin across the Midwest. He needed to sit this one out. It was too personal for him to think rationally. He put his best man was on point, a young man named Nick.

Azog, forgoing the glass, grabbed the bottle and moved to his office. Nick should have his nightly report for him. Seconds later, the phone rang. Azog pressed the speakerphone button and took a long drink of his whiskey.

“Please tell me you have good news, Nick,” Azog sat down at his chair.

“We saw him!” Nick said. “Thorin Oakenshield and his team, we saw them and we’re moving in.”

“So you have them?”

“Not… not exactly, sir.”

Azog’s grip on his bottle tightened.

“You told me you had them in your sights,” Azog growled.

“We did!” Even through the tinny speakerphone, Azog could hear the fear in Nick’s voice. “Centerville, Iowa, we saw them.”

“Then why don’t you have him?” Azog asked, slamming the bottle on the desk. “Why don’t I have Thorin’s head in my living room?”

“The police showed up,” Nick whined. “Gandalf Gray was there too and they must have slipped away among the commotion.”

“That’s not good enough!” Azog stood up, slamming his fists against his desk. The bottle wobbled. “I need you to find them, Nick! Find me Thorin Oakenshield and bring me his head on a silver platter, DO YOU HEAR ME?”

“Yes, boss!” Nick whimpered.

Azog jabbed the button on his phone, ending the call. He took a heavy breath through his nose and practically forced himself to relax. Thorin was a slippery bastard when he wanted to be and he had the help of Bofur to go into hiding. This required a bit of patience. If Azog kept his head down and his feelers out, certainly something would crop up.

He just needed to get Thorin before Thorin got Saul.

With a heavy sigh, Azog collapsed in his desk chair, spinning around idly. If Nick was right, and not exaggerating like usual, then Gandalf Gray was in league with Thorin. Azog frowned. That was a bit of a sticky point.

Gandalf Gray had more connections than any other criminal Azog knew. Not to mention that Gandalf was on the Council of White. Though, Azog mused, Gandalf had more than enough motive to want to join Thorin’s heist. Saul was a tyrant, a glorious and beautiful tyrant, who held onto Las Vegas with an adamant grip. The Council had had their eyes on taking Saul down for years. They weren’t overly fond of Azog and his gang either. Killing two birds with one stone, dethroning Saul and killing Azog, was very much something Gandalf would do. As was using someone like Thorin to do his dirty work. Gandalf very rarely got his hands dirty.

Avoiding Gandalf and the Council would be difficult. They had their fingers in every major criminal gang all across the country. It would be difficult to avoid them, but not impossible, as Saul’s funding allowed Azog to get what he wanted when he wanted it, but all criminals had connections with each other and Azog wasn’t exactly unknown among those circles.

All the more reason for him to stay out of this hit.

Yet there was one person Azog knew he could trust. They never exchanged names. He knew Azog as The Defiler and Azog knew him as The King. They’d worked together before, when Azog needed protection after his assassinations, before Saul bought him.

Men in his business didn’t forge friendship, but this was close.

He dialed the number easily, his lips curving into a smile.

“The King’s Palace, what can I do for you?” a high-pitched voice answered.

“It’s The Defiler,” Azog said smoothly. “I need to speak with your boss.”

* * *

True to his word, Thorin Oakenshield woke up everyone at the crack of dawn to leave Omaha. With eyes half-opened and hair still tousled, the team piled into the commercial van Elrond had given them. Balin, being the most awake, was designated driver.

According to Ori, they could make it to Denver within the day. Elrond gave them a few thousand dollars, cash, to help with the expenses along the way. Thorin didn’t ask where the money came from, but gladly used it to buy coffee and donuts on their way out of Omaha.

“Have you ever seen mountains before?” Gloin asked Bilbo a few hours into the drive when the sun was high and hot in the sky.

“Of course I have,” Bilbo replied. “Weren’t those mountains in Pennsylvania?”

Thorin chuckled to himself. Their burglar was in for a surprise once they broke the Colorado boarder.

“Just you wait,” Dwalin said. “These mountains are the Rockies. They come outta nowhere. We’ll be driving along and _bam!_ there they are.”

A few more hours into the drive and Bilbo gasped from the backseat. No mountains in the East could compare to the feeling of the Rockies looming in the distance. They were first a smudge on the horizon, just a dark shadow. The closer they got, the bigger they grew. Bilbo was pressed up against the window, eyes wide as saucers and mouth open.

Thorin chuckled to himself. Mountains indeed.

They ended up staying in a Hampton Inn near the center of town, Elrond’s cash coming in use. He bought them rooms for one night’s stay.

“Gandalf said he’d meet us here in three days,” Balin said as Thorin laid down the cash. “You said we’d wait for him here.”

“Plans have changed,” Thorin said, thanking the woman at the counter. “Elrond said we have ten days. I’m not wasting three of them here. We’ve done fine without Gandalf so far, I’m sure we can manage.”

Balin sighed but didn’t press the point. Thorin gathered his team in the lobby. It was only two in the afternoon and Denver was a large city. A week ago, he would have had them locked up in their rooms, finalizing any plans they had concerning the heist, but it was summer in Denver and Thorin really had missed seeing the mountains.

Not like any of their plans had gone according to plan anyway.

They ended up wasting the afternoon away walking through downtown Denver. Occasionally someone would stop them and they would spend a few hours in a store. Just looking to see what they would buy once the heist was complete. They were still relaxed and comfortable from their brief stay in The Dell.

By evening, they were in some bar in a back alley. It had been Bofur’s idea to get completely wasted and he chose this bar specifically because it was tucked away from the burning lights of the city.

“Just because we lost Azog doesn’t mean we should give him a breadcrumb trail back to us,” Bofur nodded, lifting his violent green drink in the air.

“Hear, hear!” Nori agreed, smashing their glasses together.

Thorin chuckled along with his team and raised his glass.

The night blurred into one fuzzy moment. Thorin was buying drinks for everyone; Fili and Kili were sleeping in a corner, beer bottles hanging from their limp hands. Ori had surprised everyone by winning the drinking contest and standing on his chair to let out a tremendous belch.

They were celebrating. It was summer in Colorado. They had ten days without worry of being hunted. There was a secret entrance into the casino. Where could things go wrong?

Gloin and Bombur were swapping stories about their children. Oin was drinking against Bifur. Bilbo was singing in his seat, helped along by Bofur. Dwalin kept calling over for more drinks to go around.

Then everything went black and fuzzy.

Thorin opened his eyes to see he was in the back of a van. His hands and feet were tied together. The rest of the team were around him, most of them still unconscious. Thorin felt the beginnings of a headache behind his eyes. He glanced around quickly, only to see that the only other person in the van was the driver, a small scrawny man. It was still dark outside and Thorin had no way of knowing what time it was or how long he’d been unconscious. More importantly, he had no memory of how he could possibly have gotten himself into this situation.

“What is happening?” Thorin demanded. His throat was dry and he couldn’t wrap his tongue around the words.

The driver simply giggled and pressed on the gas pedal harder. The jarring motion of the van upset Thorin’s stomach but he would be damned if he threw up in this van. His team started waking up, all of them moaning at the constant shifting motions of the vehicle.

“That is the last time you pick the bar,” Dori muttered darkly toward Bofur. “Drugged, kidnapped, and hungover. And the martinis weren’t even that good!”

“I’m sorry that I wanted to keep a low profile!” Bofur shot back, cracking his neck.

“Shut up!” Thorin hissed, gesturing to the driver with his head.

Silently, the team looked at each other. This was becoming less of a heist and more of a jump from danger to danger. The van drove for barely twenty minutes before slowing and pulling into a small building. _The King’s Palace_ was flashing on the side in neon green lights. Half the team gave an audible gasp and Thorin felt nausea sweep through him that had nothing to do with the jarring van.

The backdoors of the van opened and dozens of men were waiting, all wearing white suits. They must be The King’s cronies, fondly called Imps. They cut the ropes binding their legs and pushed them forward. Thorin looked over and found his nephews, side-by-side. They smiled at him, cocksure and arrogant, as they were pushed through the front doors of the building.

_The King’s Palace_ was a club of sorts. It was in the middle of nowhere, Colorado. If you didn’t know where to find it then you didn’t belong there. Blue twinkle lights were strung up all around the room. Black tables were scattered around and in the center was a tiered dance floor. On one side was a stage covered with chains and whips, on the other was a bar. It was also completely empty.

The King was expecting them.

They were brought before the stage, the Imps standing around them like a wall. Their guns were tossed onto the bar carelessly. Thorin did a very quick headcount. Thirteen. He counted again, making sure he didn’t miss Ori hiding behind Dwalin and that he counted himself. Still thirteen. Bifur was by Bombur, Bofur and Nori next to each other with Dori. He saw his nephews take comfort with Balin. Oin was to his left and Gloin at his right. That was thirteen, which left one question burning Thorin’s mind.

Where in the world was Bilbo?

“Well, well, well!” a voice that was far too chipper sounded from backstage. “Look at the guests we have here.”

From backstage came one of the largest men Thorin had ever seen. He was dressed in a dark purple pinstripe suit and carrying a cane. Wisps of white hair clung to his head and he sauntered down the stage. There was no mistaking it. He was The King.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” The King practically crooned. “Is this Thorin Oakenshield? Has the prodigal son returned?”

Thorin said nothing. He felt Oin shift next to him, no doubt trying to hear better.

“It must be such a disappointment to learn that your sudden appearance isn’t a surprise to me,” The King swung his cane around. “I received a phone call, why only yesterday, from someone you might remember. A very old rival of yours. At least, that’s the way he tells it.”

“Azog,” Thorin growled. He should have known. After escaping him in New York, Azog would be livid. Thorin should have known that, he should have expected it and planned for it.

“Oh, that’s The Defiler’s name?” The King mused. “A very average name, don’t you think? Azog the Defiler. Oh, wait, that does sound lovely.”

“What does Azog want with you?” Thorin snapped.

“Oh, touchy-touchy, aren’t we?” The King waved his hand and three Imps appeared, dragging a heavy throne onto the stage. The King sat down, crossed his legs, and sighed. “Azog and I are friends, in a sense, you must know. I scratch his back, he scratches mine, the like. He offered a very interesting prize if I give you to him. Aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to know what The Defiler thinks your head is worth?”

Thorin was extremely curious, but he wouldn’t say as much to The King. It didn’t matter what Azog was offering for Thorin’s head. What did matter was making sure his team stayed alive. If he dove quickly, he could probably reach his shotgun and blast the Imps away. Toss a gun to Dwalin and really get the party started.

“The Defiler said I could have the pick of your men,” The King said.

Thorin’s eyes shot back to The King. He felt the blood rush out of his face at those words and The King’s lecherous gaze.

“No,” Thorin whispered.

“Oh, yes,” The King purred. “I could pick whomever I wanted from your little traveling circus to work here for me. Or with me.” The King made a grand show of pointing at each member of the team with his cane, muttering under his breath the whole while. He stopped on Ori; his eyes gleamed and he licked his lips. “That one.”

“No!”

Thorin turned and saw Dori and Nori stepping in front of their brother.

“You don’t have much say in that matter, I’m afraid,” The King chuckled darkly. From the folds of his suit, he pulled out a cell phone. “Hello, Defiler dearest, I have your prize. I trust you’ll pick him up in 3 to 5 days. Your boys are on their way here? Excellent. Oh, no need to hurry. I’m sure I’ll find a way to entertain them.” The King slammed the phone shut and it sounded like a death sentence.

“Now, how shall we pass the time?” The King muttered, his eyes dragging over each member of the team. He landed on Fili and Kili and his eyes lit up. “Ooo, young boys. The things I could do with them.”

Thorin barely suppressed a growl. “Don’t you dare!”

“I was only looking,” The King sighed dramatically. “And imagining. They would look so pretty. Tied up in leather with whip marks across that youthful flesh. Can’t you imagine that?” The King pointed to Kili. “Someone behind him, pulling back on his curly hair and leaving his neck exposed for someone to bite. Just enough to bleed.”

Kili let out something like a whimper and reached for Fili’s hand.

“Or,” The King laughed as Fili tugged Kili closer, “we could do all sorts of unspeakable things to him and make his pretty blonde brother watch. Oh, wouldn’t that be delightful! Such torturous and beautiful noises I could wring out of those boys. I bet they’re a couple of screamers.”

The team converged together, surrounding Fili and Kili as if they could protect them. Thorin’s chest glowed with pride. A group of men that worked together like that, who moved and protected each other without thinking, was a good team to have. When Thorin got his fortune back, when he was CEO of the Erebor Hotel and Suites once more, he would offer each one of these men a job. Anything to repay them for this moment, for daring to stand up against The King of Sin to protect his nephews.

“Which is nothing compared to the things I could do to you,” The King turned his gaze to Ori again. “Maybe a collar for that pretty little neck?”

Dori and Nori pushed Ori into the center of their little circle, seething. The King sighed, again, and pointed his cane at Thorin.

“If The Defiler didn’t have his name all over you, then I’d take you,” The King’s voice was dripping with promise. “I’ve never seen a more regal face. Those are the ones that are most fun to watch shatter.”

Thorin tried not to let his disgust show at those words. The idea of The King being anywhere near him made him sick. He tried not to listen as The King lazily pointed to each team member in turn, lavishing all kinds of fantasies on what he could do. Instead, Thorin focused on how to get to the guns. He nudged Gloin, who was closest, and gestured to the bar on the left. He blinked three times slowly. Gloin nodded.

First heartbeat, Thorin tensed.

Second heartbeat, Thorin bent over, bracing his shoulders.

Third heartbeat, he ran.

Thorin dove to the left, pushing down the Imps all around him. Gloin let out a roar and followed him. Oin, catching on, followed as well. Thorin managed to grab his Desert Eagle with his tied hands, the Monroe brothers covering him. He turned and fired. He watched as the .50AE round hit The King in the shoulder, knocking him over.

Then all hell broke loose.

The Imps jumped on Thorin, pushing past Gloin and Oin and shoving his gun out away. The rest of the team shouted and pushed their way towards the bar, kicking and biting and shoving their way through. The King stood up, helped by his Imps and hand over the gaping wound on his shoulder.

“Cut off his head!” The King shouted.

The Imps pulled Thorin onto the ground, not caring that his head knocked against the bar with a resounding _crack_. Two Imps held his arms out, two on his legs, while a third one came up to him with a machete. The blade flashed in the lowlight and Thorin swallowed thickly. Dwalin was shouting his name and pushing through hordes of Imps. The Imp holding the machete touched it to Thorin’s neck. He raised it up and Thorin took a breath.

Then everything was dark.

Stupidly, Thorin thought he had died and was on his way to the afterlife. He could still feel the Imps on him and his teammates shouting and Thorin realized the truth, the lights had gone out. He pushed the Imps off him and slid backwards to the bar. By the time he was standing, the lights flickered back on.

The team was still surrounded by Imps and a very familiar figure stepped through the club. Gandalf Gray with his AK47. Thorin couldn’t help but make a small noise in the back of his throat. This was the third time he’s saved them.

“Fight!” Gandalf shouted.

Bofur made it to the bar first. He picked up a knife and cut through the ropes around Thorin’s wrists. Thorin returned the favor and Bofur smiled, picking up a shotgun and blasting the head of the nearest Imp. Thorin threw the handguns to their rightful owners, praying one didn’t go off accidentally. Balin jumped behind the bar, grabbing his carbine and shooting down the Imps with military precision.

“To the van, quickly!” Gandalf shouted over the rattle of gunfire.

The team ran to the exit, following Gandalf’s shouting. Thorin swept the extra guns into a nearby bag and followed them, his Desert Eagle in hand. Dwalin was revving up the engine when Thorin jumped in. The van lurched forward and they pealed out. They were going to Grand Junction, a few hours away.

“Gandalf!” Kili shouted, looking out the window. “They’re coming!”

Behind the van came dozens of motorcycles and one large car. The Imps were carrying handguns and rifles. Shouting at Dwalin to drive carefully, Thorin shot the back window out. Gloin and Oin were there, shooting down the Imps. Gunshots ran through the car as more Imps came from each street they passed.

They were surrounded. Imps were shooting at them from all angles and no matter how fast Dwalin drove or how many instructions Ori gave, they just kept coming. They were almost out of the city, the long stretch of road tantalizing. If they could just keep the Imps off a little bit longer, they could make it.

Squealing in front of them was the large car. The King poked his head from the sunroof, smiling widely with a gun in hand.

“You thought you could escape?” The King crowed. “This town is mine! It’ll take more than a few gunshots and some fancy driving to escape!”

Gandalf, who was in the front, leaned out the passenger window, a shotgun leveled high.

“Oh, Gandalf Gray, member of the Council of White,” The King mocked. “What do you plan on doing?”

Gandalf squeezed the trigger. The King’s head disappeared as the body fell over the car, blood pouring onto the asphalt. Dwalin floored it and the team sped down the long road to Grand Junction, leaving the Imps behind with a beheaded king.

At Grand Junction, they stopped just off the highway. Oin was a flurry of motion, going to each member of the team and checking for injuries. Just a few scrapes and bruises from the brawl at _The King’s Palace_ and a fairly nasty graze on Bifur’s upper arm.

“Where is Bilbo?” Gandalf demanded, looming over them.

The team looked around them, as if Bilbo was hiding underneath the van. Fili and Kili spun around in circles, searching frantically.

“He never made it to The King,” Thorin said. “I checked.”

“Then where did he go?” Gandalf asked.

“He saw his chance in Denver and left,” Thorin snapped. He’d been thinking about it since he noticed the burglar was gone. “He never wanted to be here. He saw his chance and he took it to get back to London. I doubt we’ll be seeing him again.”

Fili and Kili bowed their heads. They had grown fond of Bilbo through the journey. Thorin had as well, but he knew that this was coming. Bilbo Baggins of London should never have come on this heist. He was small, soft, and untested against the world. He didn’t belong here. Thorin would miss the laughter he gave the team, the naïve innocence he had in the face of danger, the determination in his eyes, but Thorin knew that it was coming. All Bilbo needed was a push and he would be as far away from the team as he could.

It would be best to accept that now.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” came a familiar voice.

The team turned and saw Bilbo Baggins, bruised and dirty, stepping from a motorcycle. Thorin felt something in his chest fall into place as the team converged on him, patting his back and giving him hugs.

“How did you find us?” Kili asked.

“Well, it’s a long tale,” Bilbo hedged.

“You tell us your half of the tale, and we’ll tell you ours,” Dwalin clapped Bilbo on the shoulder. “You owe us that much.”

“Oh, very well,” Bilbo gave in. He sat down at the edge of the van and cleared his throat. “I suppose it started back in Denver at the bar…”


	12. Chapter 12

Bilbo had just gone to the bathroom for a moment. The team was roaring drunk and didn’t notice him slip away. When he came back, they were all gone.

“Bother,” Bilbo muttered, stumbling from the bar. “They all just got up and left. Don’t mind Bilbo, he’s just the burglar. We don’t need him. Bah!”

Angry, Bilbo kicked an empty bottle on the street, bruising his toes. He hopped into an alleyway, pain shooting up his foot. He really should have known better than to join a dangerous heist. Bilbo sat down in the alley, allowing himself to truly stop and think.

His hand brushed on something soft. Looking down, Bilbo saw a cloth mask, one that looked rather angry. It was well made, of soft cloth and very small stitches. Bilbo tucked it into his pocket without even thinking. It couldn’t hurt to have.

First, the facts.

Bilbo was a little man from London lost in Denver, Colorado with no money to his name.

He was supposed to be a burglar of a heist and the entire team had abandoned him.

He was sitting in an alleyway, drunk, alone and cold.

Did he mention that he was broke in a city he didn’t know?

He had his gun tucked in the waistband of his pants. Bofur insisted.

There were wide eyes staring at him.

Wait.

Bilbo stood up, fumbling for the gun in his pants. The eyes were attached to a scrawny man. He had dark, curly hair, matted to his head, and a wild gleam in his bloodshot eyes. There were scabs around his mouth and he looked covered in dirt.

“Who is this?” the man tipped his head to the side. “Who are you? What are you doing in my alley, hmm?”

“My name is Bilbo Baggins,” Bilbo said, his fingers closing around the handle of his gun. “I’m from London.”

“London is a long way from here,” the man muttered to himself. “What is a small little Brit doing in _my_ alley?”

“I’m lost,” Bilbo sighed. “I’ve lost my team, my friends, and my way.”

“Where are you going?” the man asked, picking at his nails.

“Las Vegas?” Bilbo shrugged.

“That’s a very long way from here,” the man said.

“And who are you?” Bilbo asked. He needed to know of this man was going to be a threat to him. If he had to, Bilbo could probably shoot the man, but Bilbo didn’t like that option very much.

“Smeagol,” the man rasped, as though unused to saying his name. “Gollum should be around here too. He doesn’t like strangers. He says they’ll bring us trouble.”

“I just want to get out of here,” Bilbo groaned, hoping this Gollum wasn’t anywhere nearby. “I don’t know where my hotel is or else I’d be leaving.”

“I know where the hotels are,” Smeagol eyes gleamed. “All shiny and big with flashing lights. I know where they are. Gollum doesn’t like them. He likes the dark.”

“Can you take me to them?” Bilbo asked, feeling something loosen in his chest.

“I could…” Smeagol said. “But it would cost you.”

Bilbo, tired, cold, and fed up with this nonsense, pulled his gun out. “And what about now? Could you show me the way?”

The change was almost instant. Smeagol’s eyes narrowed, his posture hunched over, and his hands balled into fists.

“Never!” Smeagol’s voice was different, lower and scratching. “We don’t go to the lights. Never, never, never to the lights. Smeagol won’t go and neither will Gollum. No lights!”

Bilbo took a step back, pressing himself against the wall.

“Smeagol…?” he tried.

“No, no, not Smeagol,” he laughed darkly. “Gollum.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened and he realized that this man was insane. Oh, how he wished for the team right now. He would even take help from Gandalf Gray at this point. Anything to help him out of this mess he’d landed himself in.

“Look, Smeagol or Gollum, whoever you are, I need to find my way out of here,” Bilbo said, waving his gun around. “I just need to find the lights and I’ll be on my way.”

“Gollum doesn’t think so,” he said, inching closer to Bilbo, his eyes wild. “We never go to the lights, do we precious?”

“I’m not playing games here!” Bilbo exclaimed, desperation entering his voice.

“Games?!” Gollum’s face changed and his eyes got wide and bright. “We love games! If we wins then you stay here with us.”

“But if I win then you show me the way to the lights,” Bilbo said. “Do we have a deal?”

Smeagol nodded. Desperate for any chance to escape with his life, Bilbo sat down in the dirty alley floor and exchanged riddles with an insane maniac. Despite having two distinct personalities, Smeagol knew plenty of riddles and Bilbo’s own store of riddles was growing thin. He stood up and paced the alley, shoving his hands into his pockets as he tried to think of another riddle, one that would surely stump Smeagol or Gollum or whoever this man was.

“What’s in my pocket?” Bilbo asked to himself, fingering the soft cloth.

Smeagol’s face twisted in confusion and he came up to Bilbo’s personal space. “Not fair! Ask another!”

“No, no, no,” Bilbo said, thinking quickly. He may yet be able to save this and save himself. “You asked for a question, and that is my riddle. Three guesses. What is in my pocket?”

“Hands!” Smeagol shouted just as Bilbo pulled his hands out and raised them up. Smeagol growled and paced in the alleyway, his eyes twitching as he muttered to himself. “Lighter!”

“Nope,” Bilbo shook his head. “One more guess.”

“String,” Smeagol said quickly. “Or nothing.”

Bilbo didn’t bother that Smeagol cheated, guessing two at once. “Wrong both times. Now that I’ve won, you’ll take me to the lights, right?”

Smeagol curled up in a ball and leaned against the dumpster, crying pitifully. Bilbo almost felt sorry for the man. He was clearly not in his right mind, a drug addict living in the slums of Denver. Blain felt a twinge of sympathy for him, but he needed to find Thorin and the rest of the team more than anything else he felt.

“C’mon now,” Bilbo said, gesturing with his gun. “Show me the way out.”

Smeagol’s face twisted into Gollum’s, and Bilbo felt a trickle of fear at the look of pure murder in his eyes.

“What is in your pocket?” Gollum demanded.

Bilbo knew he shouldn’t tell Gollum what he’d found. He didn’t know why, perhaps because he wanted to keep the beautiful mask, or perhaps it was the evil intent in Gollum’s eyes.

“That is not your business,” Bilbo said simply.

Gollum stood slowly. He was thin and lanky, but there were muscles beneath all that. He may be small, scrawny, and broken, but Gollum was strong and he had a predator walk about him. Bilbo vainly tried to remember what Bifur had taught him about his gun, but all he knew was that if he got into trouble, it was better to run than shoot.

That is what Bilbo did. He turned around and sprinted out of the alley. Gollum shrieked and followed. Bilbo didn’t know where he was running, he was just running as far away as he could from Gollum. It didn’t matter where, as long as there was distance. He turned down another alley, this one not as filthy as the other, and pulled the mask out. Bilbo didn’t stop to think, he just pulled the mask over his head.

The strangest feeling washed over him. Bilbo did not feel frightened at all. He glanced at a window and saw his face. The mask was black and covered his entire face; there were only slits for his eyes to peer through. Yellow eyes were sewn on and a red mouth, contorted into a scowl, complete with sharp teeth.

It was a fearsome mask that would have left Bilbo trembling if he wasn’t the one wearing it. As it stood, Bilbo was wearing the mask and it gave him a huge sense of comfort, though he couldn’t quite figure out why.

Gollum scrambled down the road and Bilbo pressed himself against the wall. Gollum turned this way and that, his eyes frantic and fingers twitching.

“To the lights!” Gollum muttered to himself. “The lights, the lights, the lights! That is where Baggins is!”

Bilbo held his breath as Gollum ran off. He hadn’t been spotted at all. Quietly, he followed Gollum through the dark streets of Denver, keeping the mask on and his gun close. Gollum ran quickly and Bilbo couldn’t risk losing sight of him, but he couldn’t risk Gollum hearing him either.

Gollum stopped at an intersection and Bilbo could see the lights beyond. The city! Gollum cringed at the light and muttered to himself, pacing back and forth along the intersection. Bilbo would have to pass him to get to the city. Very well. Bilbo tucked his gun into his pants, took a deep breath, and ran. He jumped over Gollum, hearing him scream and shout, but still Bilbo ran.

The city lights were beautiful after being in the dark for so long. Bilbo ran until he came to a busy intersection, one he knew Gollum wouldn’t like. He tore the mask off his face, stuffed it into his pocket, and realized that he was still lost in an unknown country with no money to his name and he had no idea where the rest of the team would be.

A motorcycle revved up beside him. The driver turned back to the hotel, leaving the motorcycle running. Bilbo really shouldn’t. He really, really, really shouldn’t steal the bike, but he had to find the team somehow, right? And the little he had gathered, he knew they were going west, to a city called Grand Junction next.

Bilbo would need a way to get there and he had no money. But stealing a motorcycle? That went against every moral code Bilbo held onto so dearly. He couldn’t possibly... could he? Gandalf thought Bilbo was burglar material, so perhaps he was. Bilbo _was_ on an impossibly dangerous, and quite illegal, heist team. Stealing motorcycles would not be out of the norm for any of the other team members.

And what if Bilbo did get away with it? Could he live with that on his conscience, knowing that he stole a motorcycle? He would have to live with that guilt for a very long time.

But could Bilbo just stay in Denver and never know what will become of Thorin Oakenshield and his team? Could he live with never seeing those thirteen men ever again? Bilbo wanted to say yes, he could live without seeing those men who ruined his flat again, but he knew he was lying to himself. He had become quite fond of them, especially the boys.

Before Bilbo could talk himself out of it, he was on the motorcycle and speeding off out of Denver and heading west.


	13. Chapter 13

The team looked at Bilbo with awe shining in their eyes and he puffed with pride. He had finally done something right in this awful heist of theirs. He was preparing quite a lecture for Thorin and keeping track of the members of his team (it was really quite impressive) when Thorin, predictably, interrupted him.

“Why did you come back?” Thorin demanded.

“Listen, I know you don’t trust me,” Bilbo said. “I don’t blame you. I don’t belong here. I belong back in London in my little flat with my plants and books and chair. That’s my home and my life and you… you don’t have one. Saul took it from you. That’s why I came back; to help you reclaim your fortune, to help you go home.”

Bilbo looked over the heist team with a soft smile. Most of them looked up at Bilbo with a new kind of light in their eyes. Here was Bilbo, a lost, little Londoner in the middle of Colorado, giving his word to help Thorin reclaim his home from the most powerful man in Las Vegas. A heist team was only as good as their loyalty and Bilbo had finally proven his own.

Now, about the lecture on keeping tabs on all members of the party. Bilbo took a breath, fully intending to rip into Thorin for abandoning him back in Denver and insist on creating a sort of buddy system so no one would be left behind again, when the roaring sound of motorcycles echoed over the street.

As one, they turned to the highway. There stood a long line of motorcycles, each had a horrid looking man riding atop. At the head, on a blinding white Harley, was a wicked looking man, a large gun on his hip.

“Azog,” Thorin growled.

“Run,” Gandalf said. “Back to the van! Quickly!”

On the highway the motorcycles roared and came straight for them. Scrambling against each other, the team ran for the van. Dwalin flung the door open and started shoving people into it. Dori jumped into the front seat, starting the engine, while Gandalf sat in the passenger seat.

“Go, go, go!” Nori shouted, banging on the headrest.

“But Bilbo!”

Slower on the uptake, Bilbo was the last one to the van. Dori had started moving the car forward, the back door still swinging open with Fili’s hand outstretched. With an almighty jump, Bilbo grabbed onto Fili and was yanked into the van, the door slamming shut behind him.

Ori crawled to the front seat, his trusted laptop in his hand, and he pointed out which road for Dori to take. They were going to Utah.

The motorcycles were fast and quickly gained on the van. The sound of gunshots rang in the air and Bilbo felt Bofur push him down to the floor of the van. More glass shattered and the van gave a tremendous lurch, knocking Bilbo into the door, Bifur crashing into him.

“Take them out!” Dori shouted. “We can’t keep going like this!”

Bilbo peeked over Bifur’s shoulder and saw everyone else hanging out the broken windows, guns in hand, shooting out the motorcycles as best they could. Slowly, the gang eased up and, for one glorious moment, Bilbo thought they had done it. The motorcycles stopped, firing uselessly at the van, and the crew all cheered. Fili and Kili hugged each other, Bilbo laughed incredulously at their luck, and the van tipped.

It felt like the entire left side was shorter and there was the sound of loose rubber slapping asphalt. Then Bilbo heard it – the sound of a tire rim scraping against road. The van spun out, tipped, and crashed onto its side.

Everyone went tumbling. There was screaming and blood and glass and Bilbo was so disoriented he wasn’t sure which way was up. The sound of idling engines soon came over them and Bilbo poked his head out a window to see Azog, the man on the white Harley, step off his bike slowly. He was laughing.

“So we meet again, Oakenshield,” he called out. The rest of his gang stepped of their motorcycles as well, waiting for the signal. “You always were weak.”

“Azog,” Thorin growled. He stood up inside the van, staring him down. “Slave to the man who bought your freedom. You’re nothing.”

Azog only laughed again. “Then face me, coward!”

Thorin pulled himself from the wreckage, fury blazing in his eyes, and stalked towards Azog. He lifted his gun, his trusted Desert Eagle, and fired at Azog. Azog ducked and Thorin jumped over the heap of the van and ran for Azog.

“No!” Bilbo shouted.

All around Bilbo, he could hear commotion. Ori was unconscious in the front seat, Dori screaming and crying with Oin by his side, the two of them hovering over Ori’s limp body. Dwalin tried to climb from the wreck only to slice his palm open on a shard of glass. Bofur was shouting and pulling people and guns from the wreck.

Everyone was hurt or trapped. No one was helping Thorin. Bilbo stood up and watched as the bullets glanced off the street as Thorin and Azog fired at each other. The revolver was heavy on his hip and Bilbo watched in shock as Azog bull-rushed Thorin, tackling him to the ground and slamming his fists over and over against Thorin’s chest.

Thorin was losing. Thorin was _dying_.

Bilbo pulled out his revolver. He checked the safety, put his finger on the trigger, and took careful aim just like Bifur taught him. Line up the sights and squeeze.

The gun tried to fly out of his hand, the recoil bringing Bilbo’s hand up to his face. The shot went wide and Azog spun around. His eyes locked onto Bilbo and he snarled. Bilbo swore and jumped from the wreckage. He hit the pavement hard, scraping his hands and hitting his face on the asphalt. He felt blood on his chin.

But Azog had let up on Thorin. Whatever happened to Bilbo didn’t matter. Thorin was safe for now. Azog started to walk towards Bilbo. Bilbo tried to stand up but his arms buckled underneath his weight. Azog laughed and lifted his gun and Bilbo took his last gasping breaths before Azog killed him.

The long rattle of a rifle echoed overhead and Bilbo spared a glance up to see Fili and Kili, each manning an assault rifle, firing at Azog and his gang. Azog ducked away from the hail of bullets and Bilbo almost collapsed from relief. But then he saw Thorin, lying unmoving on the pavement, and his resolve set.

He had no plan. They had no cars and were in the middle of nowhere in Colorado. Even if he saved Thorin, pulled him back and away from Azog, then what? Bilbo pushed those thoughts away. He could figure that out later. All that mattered was saving Thorin. It was like a war zone, bullets flying overhead, screams and shouts of the rest of the team as Bilbo crawled over the ground to reach Thorin.

It was only a couple of feet but it felt like miles. Someone jumped from the wreck and Bilbo saw Dwalin’s boots in his peripheral, followed by Fili and Kili’s worn sneakers. That was the distraction Bilbo needed and he scrambled even quicker towards Thorin.

Thorin was still breathing, that much Bilbo could see. The gentle rise and fall of his chest was the only sign of life as Bilbo’s fingers circled around Thorin’s wrist. All around him was chaos. Dwalin, Fili and Kili were in the streets in a tremendous firefight against Azog and his gang. The rest of the heist team was still struggling out of the car and Ori was hoisted up on Dori’s shoulders.

Bilbo crawled up closer to Thorin and looked down on his handsome face. He looked so peaceful without the glare he usually sported while staring at Bilbo. He’d seen Thorin smile at Fili and Kili and laugh with Dwalin and Bilbo wanted to see it again.

The feeling shocked Bilbo and his fingers tightened around Thorin’s wrist. Here he was, in the middle of a firefight with barely any chance of survival, and he was suddenly struck by his growing feelings for Thorin; feelings that Bilbo wasn’t even supposed to have. Especially not right now when either of them could die.

The wind all around Bilbo and Thorin’s body picked up. The gunfire ceased and Bilbo looked up, unconsciously curling over Thorin protectively.

Three helicopters flew in over the street, wooden ladders hanging down, spotlights flashing over the road. Emblazoned on the side of each chopper was the image of a soaring eagle. Gandalf jumped from the van and shouted for the team to jump in the helicopters.

No one needed telling twice. One of the helicopters landed on the opposite side of the van, allowing Dori and Oin to load in Ori’s body. Unwilling to leave Thorin’s body, Bilbo fruitlessly tried to lift it, but then Dwalin was there, lifting up Thorin over his shoulder and climbing the ladder without hesitation. Bilbo scrambled up after him, refusing to let Thorin leave his sight.

The helicopters took off, reeling in the ladders and, soon enough, the Interstate was nothing but a ribbon on the mountainside. The last thing that Bilbo saw was Azog, face twisted in fury. Bilbo sat closer to Thorin in the helicopter and knew, beyond a doubt, that this was not the end. They would run into Azog again but next time, Bilbo thought viciously, next time he would be ready.

The helicopters belonged to a company known as Eagle’s Rescue. They specialized in search and rescue in the Rocky Mountains. They had worked with the Council of White on cases before but remained neutral in almost all affairs. They rescued people in the mountains. They hunted people who went into hiding. Whatever happened to those people afterwards was not their problem.

“We can take you as far as Fishlake National Forest,” the head pilot told Gandalf. “Any further is out of our district.”

Gandalf nodded. Fishlake was in the center of Utah, far enough away to keep Azog off their trail and closer to Nevada. Not to mention that Gandalf had a friend who lived on the outskirts of the forest.

“Thank you,” Gandalf said. “I can assure you the Council will properly reimburse you for your services today.”

“We rescue people, Mr. Gray,” the pilot said. “It’s up to you what happens next.”

What would have been a three hour drive was an hour flight, not that Dori was able to pay any attention to it. When the van tipped and crashed, Ori went flying and cracked his head against the window. He’d been knocked unconscious instantly but, according to Oin, nothing was broken and, until Ori woke up, there was no knowing if he had a concussion or not.

Dori was having absolute kittens about the entire affair.

“He’s gonna be fine,” Bofur said. “Gonna have a hell of a knot on his head but he’ll make it.”

“How can you be so calm?” Dori rounded on Bofur. He was about to insist that Ori had _never_ experienced anything more dangerous than a papercut, but stopped.

For the first time, Dori looked away from Ori. Bofur had a nasty gash on his arm that Oin was carefully wrapping in thick gauze, but it kept bleeding through. Curled up next to him was Nori, cradling his wrist and cuts all over the left side of his face.

How badly injured was the rest of the heist team?

Nori patted Dori on the shoulder, wincing a little. “It’s Ori. I understand. He’s tough though. He’ll make it.”

“What about us?” Bofur’s face looked unnaturally pale. “Are we gonna make it?”

“Once this stops bleeding, you’ll be fine,” Oin tied off the gauze. “It’s gonna need stitches as soon as we land.”

“My favorite,” Bofur said sarcastically.

Oin turned to Nori, his dark eyes flashing. “Your turn.”

Nori flinched. “You know, my wrist is fine. Definitely not broken or sprained. I don’t even think you need to see it.”

Oin’s hand shot out and grabbed Nori’s hand, twisting the wrist back and forth and humming to himself all the while, oblivious to Nori’s cries and whimpers. The rest of the flight was silent, other than Nori’s pained noises as Oin continued to work over his wrist.

Just as the helicopter began its descent, Ori’s eyes fluttered open.

“Oh, Dori, where are we?” Ori groaned. “Why is the ground moving?”

“Shh, shh,” Dori crawled over to Ori, cradling his head in his lap. Ori’s eyes were wide and unfocused and his breath came in short gasps. Dori ran a hand through Ori’s hair. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. We’re landing in Utah, Ori. You’re going to be okay.”

“Did… did someone grab my computer?” Ori asked. “All my stuff… I need it if we want to break into the casino.”

Dori stopped petting Ori’s hair. “You just got into a car accident. You probably have a slight concussion and you’re worried about your laptop?!”

From the other side of the helicopter, Nori and Bofur bust out in raucous laughter. Nori practically beamed with pride.

“Don’t you worry,” Bofur reached out next to him and pulled out Ori’s satchel. “The rest of us may have lost our stuff, but I made sure to grab yours.”

“Oh, thank _god,_” Ori sighed and clutched the satchel close to his chest. “I can die happy now.”

“You’re not dying at all, young man!”

Fishlake National Forest was one of the beautiful gems of the west. Tall mountains and crystal clear lakes, the area was popular for camping and hiking and unlike anything Bofur had ever seen before. There was a small clearing in the forest, a plateau that rose almost above the tree line. The other two choppers were already flying away and Bofur could see the rest of the team on the plateau.

“This is where you get off,” the pilot called back. “Good luck out there.”

The ladder tumbled out of the helicopter as it hovered of the plateau. On the ground, Bofur could see Thorin lying still, Bilbo and Gandalf hovering over him. Bofur, being one of the least injured, climbed down the ladder first. Then Dori then Ori. The idea was that if Ori slipped from his head injury, both Bofur and Dori could catch him.

Thankfully, no one slipped or fell or died. In fact, the only one who looked close to death was Thorin, lying on the rock half conscious. As the chopper flew away, Bofur ran up to his brother and wrapped up Bombur in a tight, tight hug. From the escaping New York to cannibals to the King, this heist had gone tits up from the beginning and it was not something Bofur ever wanted for his brother. Bofur didn’t have anything to live for – not his life of lies and cons, but Bombur had a wife and children. No matter what happened, Bombur would live and go back to Paris.

Satisfied that Bombur was alive and well, Bofur turned to look at the rest of the heist team. Luckily for them, the flight to Utah would cover their tracks for a while, keep Azog off the trail. Bofur turned to the team, cataloging their injuries and noting, with some pleasure, that everyone was more-or-less in one piece. Bofur would still need stitches on his arm, Nori’s wrist would need splinted, Balin was leaning heavily on Dwalin, but other than that, the team was in one piece.

Nori slipped up next to Bofur and rested his hand on Bofur’s shoulder. The two of them had been through many jobs together. Wherever this heist went, Bofur was glad to have Nori by his side.

In the middle of the plateau, Thorin was standing. He was bloody and having trouble breathing, but he stood tall and stared down at Bilbo with something like disapproval. A bit unfair, if you asked Bofur. Bilbo had jumped from a car wreck with the intent to save Thorin without any thought for his own safety.

Then, to Bofur’s surprise and delight, Thorin swept up Bilbo in a bone-crushing hug. The entire team cheered and Dwalin was shaking his head off to the side. Nori’s hand slid down Bofur’s arm until their hands met and fingers twined together.

“When do you think _that _will come to fruition?” Nori asked Bofur softly.

“Thorin and Bilbo?” Bofur guessed. He grinned as Thorin’s hands went just a little too low on Bilbo’s back. “Within the week, guaranteed.”

“You willing to bet on it?”

Bofur turned to Nori, the best friend he could have asked for. He was smirking at Bofur with his casual, devil-may-care smile and Bofur couldn’t help but grin back. He’d been gone for Nori since their first heist together and never looked back. Around him, the rest of the team moved to Thorin, looking for a way down the plateau.

“I’d never bet against you,” Bofur said.

“You don’t even know what the stakes are.”

“With you? They’re never good.”

Bofur turned to rejoin the rest of the team but Nori’s hand tightened and pulled Bofur back. Nori’s other hand cupped Bofur’s cheek and pulled him up for a soft kiss. Bofur’s had plenty of first kisses in his life and none of them were awe inspiring or earth shattering. Most of them were for cons or hits without any feeling behind it.

But this – kissing Nori for the first time? Kissing the man who he’d been dreaming of since they first met? The only man who Bofur ever allowed to get through his barriers? This was an ultimate, sparks flying, toe curling kind of kiss and Bofur pushed himself closer to Nori.

“Oi, enough of that!”

And trust Dori to break the mood entirely. Bofur and Nori broke apart, resting their foreheads against each other. Bofur grinned softly.

“Been wanting that for a while,” he whispered.

“Me too, if we’re being honest,” Nori kissed him again. “C’mon, we better go before the rest of the team abandons us.”

Hand in hand, Bofur and Nori trailed after the rest of the team.

* * *

Saul Fischer did not scream. He didn’t shout or punch the wall or throw his phone out the office window though he desperately wanted to. Thorin Oakenshield and his team had evaded Azog and gone missing somewhere in Colorado.

“We’ll find him, boss,” Azog promised on the phone. “There’s only one major highway from here to you. He can’t hide forever.”

“Be sure that you find him,” Saul growled over the phone. “There will be consequences if not.”

“Understood.”

Saul looked out over the city. The lights of Las Vegas were bright. To think that Thorin Oakenshield was only one state away bothered him. Saul double checked the security cameras and tripled the security in his casino. If Thorin wanted the Arkenstone back so badly, he could die for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I expect to start working on part 2 soon! Not sure how closely this will follow the movie, I'm trying to blend both the film and the book narrative in this fic.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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